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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013290">Miraculous: Tales of Red Beetle and Chat Noire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/L3245/pseuds/L3245'>L3245</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Chat Noir Chloé Bourgeois, Chloé Bourgeois Redemption, Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Good Chloé Bourgeois, Happy Ending, Kwami Swap, Ladybug Luka Couffaine, POV Chloé Bourgeois, Rivalry, Romance, Slow Burn, adrien and marinette come in as major characters eventually... eventually..., no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:00:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/L3245/pseuds/L3245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of Hawkmoth’s first akuma, Wang Fu tasks Plagg and Tikki with an important mission—to find their new holders and form an unstoppable superhero duo. The Guardian had already scoped out Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and they were perfect for the job. Before they leave, Fu tells the kwamis to find a lonely, golden-haired rich kid and a caring, blue-haired creative. </p><p>Soon after, a scowling, loudmouthed Chat Noire crashes into the scene with a Red Beetle that smiles calmly but whose eyes are narrowed with thinly veiled rage.</p><p>…perhaps he should have been more specific.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Chloé Bourgeois/Luka Couffaine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>July 2020 - Rare Pair/Character</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. you must be the partner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heyo. Hope you get a kick out of this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today is… not a bad day, all things considered.</p><p>Of course, Chloé has to dock points for that Dupain-Cheng brat being in her class again, and for her childhood friend Adrien Agreste failing to show up… and maybe for the part about that Bruel idiot turning into a knockoff Fantastic Four team member… oh, and most definitely for how her hair got messed up while successfully evading that rocks-for-brains, but!</p><p>There are upsides to this day.</p><p>She got to skip school. Daddy promised her a whole new wardrobe to deal with the trauma of her first day back. That new transfer student—Caesar or whatever—got grabbed instead of her by Stoneheart.</p><p>And, most importantly, there was a small black box with strange symbols on the cover waiting on her vanity table. When Chloé had opened it, a small black creature had appeared and told her that she was chosen to be the wielder of the Miraculous of Destruction, one of the most powerful aspects in the world.</p><p>Oh, and she got to be a super cute cat girl.</p><p>There was more, but she didn’t exactly let Plagg finish before she transformed.</p><p>Currently, Chloé sits atop the Le Grand Paris hotel, admiring her new look. Her body is covered with a form-fitting black suit that looks like leather but is too sleek and shiny to be genuine. A tiny golden bell rests on her neck. Her hair is styled differently, bundled up into a high and wild ponytail. The only weird part of the transformation were her eyes, but there were filters on Instagram for that. Probably.</p><p>Her enjoyment is short-lived, however, when a loud <em>thump! </em>comes from behind her, along with a pile of string.</p><p>Apparently, there are strings attached to being a super cute cat girl. Literally.</p><p>Chloé’s eyes follow the tangled mass at her feet back to its source: a tall boy with black hair. The ends of his hair were teal, the same shade of his eyes. He looks down at her behind a spotted black and red mask, a costume of similar design hugging his lean frame. He smiles at Chloé as he retracts his yo-yo.</p><p>“Hi. I’m Red Beetle. You must be the partner I was told about.”</p><p>He extends his hand to her with an expression that was so polite, nonconfrontational, and <em>bland</em>.</p><p>Chloé takes one look at him and scoffs, turning back to her very important task of taking selfies. She’s familiar with that expression, sees it all the time on her father’s friends’ children’s faces. It’s a carefully crafted mask made to convince people you were worth their time when in reality you were nothing. Or you wanted something.</p><p>A partner? <em>Hard pass. </em>She doesn’t need that.</p><p>His smile tightens. The hand drops.</p><p>“I see. May I have your name?” Red Beetle tries again.</p><p>“Chat Noire. Now, do you need something? Kind of in the middle of something here.”</p><p>“Well, there <em>is </em>a giant stone monster terrorizing Paris. Just thought you should know,” the teal-haired boy replies, his words a bit more clipped this time. There’s even a—<em>gasp!</em>—tiny bit of sarcasm. “Because you’re a superhero and all. Like me.”</p><p>“Oh, you mean Stoneheart? Yes. That <em>is </em>a job for a <em>superhero</em>,” Chloé replies in a saccharine voice with all the condescension of an adult talking to a small, particularly obtuse child. She pauses, then tilts her head. “That’d be you, by the way. Now buzz off, bug.” The blonde makes a shooing motion with her hand.</p><p>
  <em>The police will handle it anyways.</em>
</p><p>And… Chloé will admit it. She does love the way Red Beetle scowls, the way his upper right lip lifts and curls, marring that perfect boy-next-door image he was rocking. She especially loves the way his left eye twitches ever so slightly.</p><p>“Fine,” Red Beetle grits out. Without another word, the taller boy wraps his yo-yo around a faraway streetlamp and swings off the roof of Le Grand Paris.</p><p>There’s a special kind of pleasure in revealing these goody-two-shoes types for what they really were.</p><p>The blonde heroine is so engrossed in how hot she looks in her latest selfie—the victory glow really sells it, she thinks—that she doesn’t notice the little red string wrap once, twice, three times around her ankle until it’s too late.</p><p>Bemused, the citizens of Paris observe the two teenagers running along the rooftops—or, more accurately, a boy wearing a ladybug suit dragging around a girl in a leather cat costume. For a moment, they wonder if this duo is the answer to the supernatural threat roaming around the city. They seem physically capable, and well-armed, even if their weapons are unconventional.</p><p>“LET ME GO!” the girl shrieks, just narrowly avoiding getting smacked into a car.</p><p>“NO! YOU’RE COMING WITH ME AND WE’RE DOING OUR GOD DAMN JOB!” the boy yells. He yanks her up and out of the way of a parked bus. “SORRY!” To his credit, he sounds a little bit sorry. Then again, it’s only a little bit.</p><p>This time, the blonde heroine actually collides into a motorcycle, though she doesn’t look to be hurt at all. “OH MY GOD WHYYYYY—”</p><p>“I’M SORRY!”</p><p>The citizens of Paris draw their curtains and lock their doors.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Twenty minutes and one very vague, but very intense fight scene later, Chloé watches as Red Beetle spins his yo-yo. “Time to de-evilize!” he shouts, doing some weird rain dance while trying to catch the flying purple butterfly in the yo-yo.</p><p>It takes Red Beetle four tries to catch the akuma. Chloé thinks it would have been easier if he had just walked up to it with the yo-yo compartment open, but hey, she wasn’t one to judge when it came to dramatics. He releases a white butterfly and meets her eyes. The blonde gives him a sarcastic thumbs up, but apparently the teal-haired boy couldn’t sense sarcasm because he <em>beams.</em></p><p>“Good job, partner.” Red Beetle grins.  “Look, I know we didn’t have a good start, but…”</p><p>Chloé tenses. Well, they <em>had </em>worked well, didn’t they? Despite their literally bumpy beginning, they had worked in perfect tandem to take down Stoneheart.</p><p><em>…ridiculous, </em>she thinks, feeling a flush rise up to her cheeks.</p><p>She opens her mouth to say something probably super cool and collected, but she—and the moment between them—is interrupted.</p><p>“That was amazing! A real superhero!” the Césaire girl gushes, standing up and approaching them. “What’s your name?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, that’s right. She was there too.</em>
</p><p>Chloé preens underneath the mask, but that pride instantly dissolves when she sees Alya angling her camera towards the red-suited hero instead. Red Beetle smiles at the girl who was stupid enough to <em>follow </em>a stone monster instead of running away from it, and Chat Noire thinks he looks stupid too. All dimples and sincerity and kindness—he looks ridiculous.</p><p>“Red Beetle. It’s nice to meet you…?” The boy’s voice has <em>none </em>of the tenseness he used on her. He sounds calm, <em>friendly </em>even, when he asks for a name. Chat purses her lips.</p><p>The tanned girl pushes up her glasses and nearly trips over herself to introduce herself to the hero. “Alya. Alya Césaire. Wow, this is so cool—”</p><p>Watching them, Chloé feels something ugly in her chest.</p><p>Pity.</p><p>It’s pity, of course. What else could it be? She can’t stand to see two imbeciles chattering amongst each other.</p><p>And so, because she pities them so much, Chloé coughs loudly and not-so-subtly pushes Red Beetle aside with her hips so that the camera is focused on her. She flashes a bright smile and ignores the annoying beeping coming from her ring.</p><p>She also ignores Red Beetle’s calm smile that promises murder, but that should go without saying.</p><p>“You can call <em>me</em> Chat Noire on your little blog or whatever, but my <em>real </em>name is Chl—mmph!”</p><p>Before she could reveal her identity, and therefore reap the benefits of being an amazing, world-class superhero that everyone would pay attention to, Red Beetle slaps a hand over her mouth. He wraps his other arm around her shoulders, ensuring that she doesn’t escape—and she <em>does</em> want to escape, no matter how pleasant he smells, all flowery and like a rushing river over a layer of musk. She glares at him furiously, which he ignores in favor of giving Alya a serene smile.</p><p>
  <em>The nerve!</em>
</p><p>“We’re about to detransform now, so let’s take a rain check on that interview?” Red Beetle offers calmly, despite struggling with an incensed Chat Noire. She stomps on his foot, and while his smile wavers, his grip never falters.</p><p>Alya looks at the superhero duo with a mix of amusement and apprehension.</p><p>“Um… sure?”</p><p>“Thanks. Gotta go now, but stay safe, citizen!”</p><p>And if <em>that </em>isn’t such a cliché goody-goody hero line, Chloé doesn’t know what is. Regardless, she allows herself to be carried away from the stadium and doesn’t say a word until they land in the shady back alley behind her high school. The blonde doesn’t have much time to dwell on the coincidence—<em>huh, this is where I go to school—</em>before both of their transformations give out in bursts of emerald and rose lights. Their kwamis float in the air tiredly beside them, but she doesn’t pay attention to the magical beings.</p><p>Instead, Chloé looks him up and down. He does the same.</p><p>Her first thought: <em>Oh no, he’s hot. </em>This is left unspoken.</p><p>Her second thought: “Where did you get your clothes from? The dumpster?” This, she sneers aloud with all the derision she can muster.</p><p>The red kwami—<em>Tikki, </em>Plagg would tell her the name of later—narrows her giant buggy eyes and looks about ready to fight her, but the dark-haired boy beats her to the punch.</p><p>“Please. I wouldn’t get my clothes from the same place you got your personality,” he retorts.</p><p>For a split second, he looks surprised at his own words. Chloé was, at least. This guy looks like he’s never mouthed off anyone in his life, or like he eats a bar of soap every night. All that jazz. Still, he crosses his arms and stares her down, as if to say, <em>I know what I said.</em></p><p>In retaliation, Chloé stalks forward and presses a pointed finger into his chest. She hates that she has to crane her neck to meet his eyes, but it is what it is. “Listen here, Red Beetle, or whatever your name is,” she sneers, “stay out of my way. We may be <em>partners, </em>but <em>no one </em>interrupts me. Got it?”</p><p>The taller boy takes her by the wrist. Her hand is pulled away from his chest, but he doesn’t let go.</p><p>“What I get, <em>partner, </em>is that you aren’t taking being a hero seriously. This is serious. Don’t just give your identity out, work with me, and we’ll be just fine.”</p><p>“He’s right. You can’t let anyone else know that you’re Red Beetle and Chat Noire. Hawkmoth could come after you or your families,” the red kwami tells her.</p><p>Plagg nods his agreement at that, and Chloé is trapped. Chloé didn’t sign up for this hero thing to help people, damned if she was going to let some nobody upstart her. Obviously, this guy wanted all the spotlight! She yanks her hand back.</p><p>“I’ll keep my identity secret, <em>bug</em>,” Chloé says icily, if only to mollify the ancient beings floating beside them, “but you never touch me again without my permission.” She straightens her hair imperiously and makes to leave.</p><p>“Sure, <em>kitten</em>, but I hope you’d follow your own advice.”</p><p>She whirls around to glare at this infuriating—<em>ly handsome</em>, her traitorous mind says, <em>but mostly infuriating</em>—boy. She hisses, throwing down the gauntlet. He snaps back, meeting her challenge.</p><p>“You’re a fashion disaster!”</p><p>“And you’re a spoiled brat!”</p><p>“Fall Out Boy reject!”</p><p>“Oompa Loompa wannabe!”</p><p>“My name is <em>Chloé Bourgeois!”</em></p><p>“Well mine is <em>Luka Couffaine!”</em></p><p>Plagg and Tikki watch their bickering holders, their eyes flicking from the ‘lonely, golden-haired rich kid’ to the ‘caring, blue-haired creative’ with growing dismay. Never before had they served a duo that reacted this… strongly to each other the first meeting. They are opposites, that’s certain, but in the way that potassium chlorate and white phosphorous are opposites, all sparks and flame. It’s a wonder that no dark butterflies hovered around with the amount of animosity in the air.</p><p>“You—ugh! Just stay out of my way!”</p><p><em>This </em>was what Master Fu envisioned? For the first time, the kwamis question the elderly Guardian. Perhaps old age had finally gotten to the Chinese man, making him senile.</p><p>“You started it!”</p><p>Paris is so doomed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. notices</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun is hanging low, but already the sky is painted with beautiful rose pinks, tangerine oranges, and soft golds. Even Chloé, who isn’t a nature person at all, could appreciate the beauty of the morning against the city of love. She perks up as she imagines the back-to-school selfies she could take for her Instagram. With a small, tired smile, Chloé reaches into her purse for her phone, gently pushing aside a dozing Plagg. She even adjusts her sunglasses over her eyes, thinking they would do well to hide the eyebags from her late night.</p><p>Then she steps out of her limo and it’s all ruined.</p><p>
  <em>It’s official. My day is ruined. </em>
</p><p>Standing in front of Francois Dupont High School is a boy straddling a bicycle. In the front basket is his bookbag, along with a black guitar case. He wears a Jagged Stone t-shirt, ripped black jeans, and high-top converse. A sky-blue jacket coupled with a navy hoodie is layered over the entire ensemble. Coupled with the punk outfit are accessories like leather wristbands and—when the boy removes his helmet—solid black gauges.</p><p>The Ladybug earrings.</p><p>Red Beetle—no, <em>Luka Couffaine</em>—blinks at her. She blinks back. A beat passes, and then they both frown in sync.</p><p> “You! What are you doing here?” she demands.</p><p>“Good morning, Chloé. It’s nice to see you again,” Luka replies calmly, offering her a dull smile. His left eye is already twitching though.</p><p>“Answer my question, Couffaine.”</p><p>Plagg peeks out of his holder’s bag at all the commotion. Upon seeing the two teenagers at it again though, he slowly slinks back into his dark den. Last night was enough. He is <em>not </em>getting involved in this.</p><p>“Well,” Luka explains as if she were five years old, “I am a student. This is a high school. Perhaps I am attending classes here. Who knows? It truly is a great mystery.”</p><p>This was unacceptable. If Red Beetle really is a student in the same school as her, Chloé will lose her mind. She had already resigned herself to meeting up with the insufferable boy when she moonlit as Chat Noire. Seeing him in her civilian life too? <em>Hell no.</em></p><p>“Change schools! Now!” She stamps her foot.</p><p>From the dreary look he gives her, Luka seems to share the sentiment. Still, he shrugs. “Look. I don’t like it as much as you do, but it is what it is.” He hums innocently. “Besides, if one of us has to switch schools, it should be you. You’re obviously in your first year, while I’m on my second.”</p><p>“So what—"</p><p>Any protest she has dies immediately when suddenly, the teal-haired boy swings his leg over the bike, turns, and crouches low in front of her. Sapphire eyes automatically drop down the slope of his back and her brain just stops. What? She’s not <em>blind.</em></p><p>“Scoot over,” he mumbles, fiddling with a chain.</p><p>
  <em>Right… for the… bike… so he can lock it.</em>
</p><p>The blonde doesn’t move right away, prompting Luka to shoot her an irritated glance. When the boy catches the distracted look on her face though, he smirks bemusedly. Chloé glares at him, instantly snapping back to reality. She thinks she hears Plagg snicker, so she casually smacks her bag, feeling vindicated at the annoyed yelp. The kwami isn’t sleeping anymore. He lost all rights.</p><p>“Whatever. I guess I will allow you stay—”</p><p>“You’re too kind, your majesty.”</p><p>“—so long as you don’t do anything dumb like approach me during school hours. I know I’m amazing, but don’t even think about talking to me unless it’s for an akuma, got it? Actually, just meet me at the usual spot. I don’t think I can stand to see you walking around looking like this anymore than I have to.”</p><p>Luka snorts, that same self-assured smirk still resting on his stupid face. “I got it.”</p><p>“Right, right.”</p><p>Chloé rolls her eyes and walks away, content to leave it at that. There were still very few students around. If she’s fast enough, she can make it to her classroom without anyone seeing her associate with the poor. Still, this boy must have a habit of wanting the last word because he calls out to her as she’s walking over the top step.</p><p>“Hey, kitten!” His melodious—<em>okay, shut up, mind—</em>voice carries, causing her to pause. Several students nearby look at them curiously, but Chloé doesn’t care as much as she thought she would. “Try to keep to the rules this time, yeah?”</p><p>And something in the way he calls her that sends shivers down her spine, because he’s weak and she’s got him because he doesn’t <em>know </em>what he just revealed<em>. </em>Calling her ‘kitten’ as she’s walking up the stairs? Please. With a sly smirk, she tilts her sunglasses down, angles her body so she’s half-turned, and meets Luka’s eyes. She knows she looks <em>good</em>, but the feeling she gets upon seeing the slight widening of those teal orbs is just—</p><p>“Trust me, bug,” Chloé purrs, and she thinks she sees him swallow, “I’ll be <em>just fine.”</em></p><p>Really, there’s nothing to compare this feeling too.</p><p>-x-</p><p>That good feeling lasts until all of her classmates arrive.</p><p>Alya had apparently been very busy. Overnight, she had started up a blog named Ladyblog—Chloe chuckles at the name, considering her partner was male—where she detailed her experiences with Red Beetle and Chat Noire. There are also clips from their fight with Stoneheart, some of them more impressive than the others. Currently, she was shoving her blog down everyone’s throats, Chloé’s included.</p><p>Scrolling through the Ladyblog, Chloé seethes when she spots herself Cataclysming Stoneheart, only for it to backfire horribly as an akumatized Ivan bitch-slaps her across the stadium. She snorts when she sees Red Beetle fumbling to catch the akuma at the end, his yo-yo falling flat over and over while an amused Chat Noire stands in the background, clearly trying not to laugh. Quietly, she saves the 5-second clip of Chat Noire giving Red Beetle a thumbs up, the spotted hero returning the gesture with a large grin.</p><p>What surprises her, however, is that their short ‘interview’ with the amateur reporter is on proud display on the front page, already with hundreds of comments underneath. The content isn’t the worst part though. It’s the comment section.</p><p>At least 40 percent of the comments were about “his dreamy eyes” or “his kind smile.”</p><p>10 percent are comments about her “cute cat ears” and how she’s an “adorable tsundere,” the former of which doesn’t feel as good reading she thought it would, and the latter she doesn’t understand the meaning of.</p><p>The remaining half of the comments are of how cute a couple Red Beetle and Chat Noire make. Her eyes widen as she reads strangers gush about their “sexually-charged banter,” “possessiveness,” and “desire to touch each other at any opportunity.” There are even arguments as to what their ship name should be.</p><p>Chloé rolls her eyes and all but slams her phone face down.</p><p>
  <em>Seriously, where do people get these sorts of theories? It’s our first meeting and I literally called his fashion garbage! Delusional. Ridiculous! People will ship anything.</em>
</p><p>Sabrina finally sits next to her, but she’s not really paying attention to anything outside her phone. When Chloé glances over, she wishes she hadn’t, because the ginger-haired girl was one of the Red Beetle fangirls commenting on her posts.</p><p>“Uuuugggghhhhh. Whyyyyyyyy!”</p><p>This time, she actually groans aloud. No one pays attention to her though, chalking it up to Chloé being herself—<em>which is true, </em>but still. Eventually though, her groans get too loud to ignore and even Alya stops to check on her. It’s a good thing too, because it stops the amateur reporter from posting her newest discussion topic for her blog:</p><p>Red Beetle and Chat Noire: Cute Couple or Problematic Pair? Let’s Discuss.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Lunchtime rolls around.</p><p>The courtyard fills as her classmates leave and disperse into their respective lunch groups, different friend groups sitting at different tables. She has half a mind to invite Adrien to join her and Sabrina, but quickly changes it when she sees him walk off with that Lahiffe boy. She doesn’t feel like arguing today.</p><p>Sabrina leaves her side to look for an empty table. Normally, she’d idle away the next minute or two on her phone. Today though, Chloé’s eyes are drawn to the one whose presence she zeroed-in on the moment she stepped into the room.</p><p>
  <em>Well, if it isn’t the tacky bastard.</em>
</p><p>In one of the back-corner tables, Luka sits amongst a large group of boys and girls. Apparently, plenty of poor souls are drawn in by his grungy-artsy-rock vibe. Their table is <em>packed. </em>Sitting at the top and center of the table with his guitar propped up, Luka appears every bit the popular guy.</p><p>But Chloé notices something.</p><p>Even as he laughs and smiles and chats with his peers, Luka’s eyes are… flat, like he’s this carefully manufactured front, or like his heart’s not really into it. Once in a while, she thinks she sees a spark of life in those teal orbs when he absentmindedly strums his guitar. Then one of his friends would tug at his arm to catch his attention again, and that spark peters out.</p><p>
  <em>Huh.</em>
</p><p>“Chloé, over here!” Sabrina chirps, having found a table for them.</p><p>“Don’t be so loud, Sabrina.”</p><p>Chloé tears her eyes away from Luka to follow her. As usual, the two girls sit apart from everyone else, Sabrina munching on a sandwich and happily chattering on about her father’s duties following Stoneheart, and Chloé half-pretending to be half-interested while picking at her salad.</p><p>Why should she pay attention? It’s not like Sabrina stuck around for the emotional aspect of their ‘friendship.’ That’s not how they work.</p><p>The blonde doesn’t look back again for the entire lunch period, so she doesn’t see that Luka notices her too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the lucky charm he needed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two weeks pass.</p><p>True to their word, even though the two teenagers see each other every day, they don’t speak to each other outside of the suit. They don’t share classes, their social media accounts are entirely separate from each other, and they don’t even have each other’s numbers. It’s pretty easy to not talk.</p><p>However, that’s not to say that they didn’t communicate <em>at all.</em></p><p>There are pointed glances from the blonde as she passes Luka in the hallway—<em>nice jacket, which department store is it from? Sanitation?</em> In return, there are raised eyebrows from the teal-haired boy as he looks at Chloé over a sandwich—<em>I hear Jersey Shore is casting again.</em> They trade heated stares when an akuma crashes into their high school courtyard—<em>no, </em>you <em>make a distraction! I’ll transform first!</em></p><p>It’s annoying, really, that Chloé can now read that annoying person’s expression better than any <em>Vogue Paris</em> magazine. The least she can do for herself is to draw out as many eye-twitches and scowls as possible.</p><p>Which is why she’s confused when she sees Red Beetle scowling at her from her baton’s screen. She had just seen his grinning face on the news—as a wanted criminal, really—and had transformed to get a hold of him.</p><p><em>Who made him look like that? I’ll destroy them.</em> That was <em>her </em>right, dammit!</p><p>“Hey, bug,” she drawls in that way she knows he hates. “Mind telling me why you’re robbing art museums? Stolen art doesn’t go for much after a bug infestation, you know.”</p><p>Red Beetle scowls at her. She grins, mollified.</p><p>“That was an akuma, kitten,” he answers, contempt dripping from every syllable. His teal eyes shift around, and Chloé notices the darkness around him, the dim lighting. “I can take care of him myself, so it’s your lucky night. Detransform and sit this one out.”</p><p>
  <em>Huh. That’s weird.</em>
</p><p>Chloé straightens on her bed, her eyes suspicious. “This is from the guy that literally dragged me to our first akuma.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Hm… no thanks.”</p><p>Luka gives her a look that’s mostly exasperated. “It’s my copy, so I should know how to handle it best. Alone. Drop it, brat. Gotta go.”</p><p>
  <em>Huh… that guy. He really should know by now…</em>
</p><p>The line goes dead at that. Chloé scoffs disbelievingly at her baton’s screen before she detransforms in a flash of green light. Plagg hovers in front of her. “Well, you heard him!” the kwami says happily. “Let’s just have a nice, relaxing bubble bath with some camembert on the side!”</p><p>
  <em>If he tells me not to do something like that, I really will want to do it more.</em>
</p><p>“Not tonight. Plagg, claws out!”</p><p>-x-</p><p>Chat Noire blinks at the two Red Beetles before her.</p><p>One is chained up to the warehouse floor like a kinky submissive—she mentally dubs him Idiot #1—and the other straddles him and yanks on said chains—she dubs him Idiot #2. The two teenage boys are carbon copies of each other, from the spotted suit and mask, wavy black-and-teal locks, and discarded yo-yos. Even the <em>earrings </em>are the same, both of them blinking.</p><p>The key difference is their facial expressions. Idiot #1 divides his attention between her and the other Red Beetle, shooting them both thinly-veiled daggers, while Idiot #2 is staring at Chat Noire like... like she’s his whole <em>world. </em></p><p>Chloé suppresses a shudder.</p><p>“Kitten, you made it!” Idiot #2 exclaims in Luka's happy voice, with Luka’s happy face.</p><p>In Luka’s blank voice, with Luka’s blank face, Idiot #1 deadpans, “Please, just kill me.”</p><p>“You don’t have to lift a single, precious claw, kitten—let me do all the work.” Idiot #2 beams and makes for Idiot #1’s earrings.</p><p>Idiot #1 makes no move to push him off. “Stop talking to her and just end my suffering,” he says dully.</p><p>Chat Noir peers at them, intrigued—disturbed, still, but intrigued. She takes a step forward, but the one holding the chains raises a hand to make her halt. That Red Beetle sends her an apologetic—yet still worshipful—look. It looks like she wouldn’t be allowed any closer without setting off any alarms.</p><p>The chained Red Beetle meets her eyes. Beneath that veneer of apathy is a silent, reluctant urging.</p><p>
  <em>‘Ugh, just go for it. I’ll bleach my eyes out later.’</em>
</p><p>Her own icy blue eyes convey their own message.</p><p>
  <em>‘As if I needed your permission.’</em>
</p><p>She takes another step forward and Idiot #2 tenses. “Um… what are you doing, Chat?” he asks, equal parts nervousness and anticipation. In return, Chloé gives him her most charming smile, the one she knows squeezes hearts. Idiot #2’s eyes bug out.</p><p>“Oh, don’t be like that, Red!” she coos.</p><p>The blonde sounds as sweet as honey as she closes the distance between herself and the two. Teasingly, she walks two fingers up the standing Red Beetle’s chest, feeling his blazing warmth, his erratic heartbeat. Slowly, she rises on her tiptoes. Both Red Beetles stare at the blonde in shock, and she refrains herself from smirking.</p><p>With just one touch, she’s able to paralyze.</p><p>“Let me help you, <em>partner.”</em></p><p><em>The earrings. Go for his earrings, </em>Chloé reminds herself, yet even her own thoughts seem far away as she leans in. Her lips inch closer to the imposter-Luka’s as he bends down to accommodate her, his grip on the chains going slack. <em>He even smells the same. Feels the same. I wonder if he ta—</em></p><p>“<em>OH MY GOD,” </em>Red Beetle groans, shattering the moment. “<em>GET AWAY FROM HIM!”</em></p><p>Chat Noire immediately rounds on her true partner, her cheeks flushed pink. <em>“I WASN’T ACTUALLY GOING TO KISS HIM!” </em>She aims a kick at his chest. He dodges it.</p><p>
  <em>“I-I KNEW THAT!”</em>
</p><p>The akuma looks between the two of them, suddenly feeling very much like the third-wheel. “Kitten? What’s—” He doesn’t finish because Chat Noire first knees him where the sun doesn’t shine, then kicks him in the face away from her.</p><p>“Ugh, shut up with the ‘kitten’ thing. You’re saying it all wrong and it’s <em>gross</em>.”</p><p>“Exactly what I’ve been trying to tell him.” Luka nods with agreement. “What a crappy copy.”</p><p>“More like he isn’t crappy enough.”</p><p>The akuma is frothing with rage. “Chat Noire!” he snarls, running at her.</p><p>Chat Noire ducks. Luka, already in motion, fluidly springs to his feet and kicks over her head. He lands a nasty blow to the akuma’s side, keeping him from getting too close to the cat heroine. The duo spare one unimpressed look at their foe before the boy calmly holds out his chains for a Cataclysm.</p><p>“Are you going to stand there, your majesty, or are you going help me out?” Red Beetle huffs, rubbing his wrists.</p><p>Chat Noire yawns. “Neither. Your copy fights exactly like you. I’ll sit this one out unless you want me to get confused.” After giving him a knowing look, she vaults up to the ceiling.</p><p>“…fine.”</p><p>Instead of retrieving their respective weapons, both Red Beetles lunge at each other, fists flying and legs swinging. One throws a mean left-hook that leaves the other gasping. Chat Noire cheers from the background. In retaliation, the punched Red Beetle executes a roundhouse kick that makes the other stagger for a second before they’re back at it again. Chat Noire cheers for that too. They’re evenly matched.</p><p>That is, until a grey staff smacks one of the Red Beetles <em>hard, </em>sending him crashing into a stack of paintings.</p><p>“Hey! It’s me!” Luka snaps at her underneath the rubble.</p><p>Chloé smiles from atop her ceiling beam. “I know. That was for the bleach comment,” she says vindictively. At Luka’s glare, she rolls her eyes. He really could be so dense. “Check underneath you, idiot.”</p><p>The true Red Beetle’s eyes widen in understanding as he shifts and feels something small, round, and hard against his butt—two somethings, he realizes when his hand brushes against them.</p><p>It’s the yo-yos, of course.</p><p>And really, it’s a quick fight from that point. The akuma never stood a chance.</p><p>One deakumatization and Miraculous Cure later, Chloé and Luka step out from behind a park bench.</p><p>They both reach into their pockets for their respective kwami’s treats—Chloé with a pre-packaged mozzarella cheese stick because she can’t stand the smell or mess of camembert on her person, and Luka with a dry, crumbly Chips Ahoy cookie because he’s a teenager saving for a new guitar and he can’t bake for shit. They sit on said park bench while waiting for Plagg and Tikki to recharge. Normally, they wouldn’t stick around each other for long after a fight, but tonight feels different.</p><p>“So,” Chloé says, brushing off the dirt on her cardigan, “what was your first lucky charm?”</p><p>The boy hesitates for a quarter of a second before responding, “The spoon.”</p><p>“Don’t lie, I saw your ring beeping during your bad Sylas cosplay. You totally recharged mid-fight when that loser was on me.”</p><p>“…you play League? I thought you would be an Ultimate Mecha Strike III type.”</p><p>“Ugh, don’t lump me in with Kanté and them.”</p><p>“Don’t know who that is. I bet you’re a Yuumi main, a parasitic kitten in and out of the game.”</p><p>“No, ADC main actually. Xayah, in particular. I bet you’re a Janna main. <em>Toxic.</em>”</p><p>“…no, I’m a Rakan main. Favorite matchup?”</p><p>“Gross, but add me later. And I know what you’re trying to do. Stop dodging my question.”</p><p>Luka’s shoulders stiffen. He knows he’s been caught, probably from the very beginning of their banter. The boy turns away, avoiding her eyes. “It’s not important. You wouldn’t like it anyways,” he says gruffly, every part of him insisting that she drop the subject.</p><p>
  <em>If he tells me not to do something like that, I really will want to do it more.</em>
</p><p>“Luka—" Chloé begins.</p><p>“It was a cat charm, okay?” he bites out, crossing his arms bitterly. “It was in the exact shape of the one you have on your phone, so that’s why I called you. I realized too late.”</p><p>Her. She was the Lucky Charm he needed to win the fight. Luka had probably realized it after calling her, which was why he had hung up so quickly. He hadn’t liked it either. The implication of it was so sweet, so sugary, sparkly, <em>sickly sweet</em>.</p><p>Chloé mime-gags.</p><p>“Told you that you’d hate it,” Luka murmurs, reaching over to pick a stray leaf out of her hair. “Now give me your number so we can trade summoner names.”</p><p>“Don’t spam me, idiot.” But she pulls out her phone, the tiny black kitten charm hanging from her case.</p><p>Both teenagers ignore the fact that by now, Luka reads Chloé just as well as she reads him, both in and out of battle. If he really wanted her not to come, he would have begged her to help him instead of giving her the night off—she would have come regardless, but that way maybe he could have enough time to take care of the akuma before she saw. If he really wanted her not to ask about the Lucky Charm, he’d have argued and bickered with her until all she thought about was getting back at him.</p><p>And Chloé…</p><p>She uses the gagging motion to hide her reddening cheeks because she <em>knows. </em> She knows all of that and still she does what he wants anyways.</p><p>
  <em>Ridiculous.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for all of the wonderful comments. Glad you guys are getting a kick out of these bickering bozos. If anyone watches Bungou Stray Dogs, these two are literally Dazai and Chuuya. Just saying, pfft...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Worst Sight Ever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so um it's been a while had to sort out some stuff in the real lifes but i'm back and it's 1am if there's any typos (and there should be) i'll fix it later but i'm just gonna leave this here so i get a sense of accomplishment k bye and welcome :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>On a Thursday evening, Chloé Bourgeois--also known as Chat Noire, also known as the superior half of the Miraculous Duo--</span>
  <em>
    <span> suffers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Plagg laughs at her for it, but Chloé disregards the tiny god of destruction by smacking him softly on the top of his head--it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>petting </span>
  </em>
  <span>, shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tikki </span>
  <em>
    <span>-- </span>
  </em>
  <span>and giving him an extra-exaggerated roll of her icy blue eyes. She’s seen what makes the black kwami cringe, and frankly? She’s not impressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she had known she would be subjected to such torture on this day, the heiress would have happily given up her entire inheritance to avoid it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, well, maybe just half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On an innocent Thursday evening, Chloé Bourgeois reclines with one leg over the other on her plush chaise lounge. A red, sparkling drink filled with frozen fruit perspires atop an adjacent golden side table. She has her phone out, the tapping of her freshly dried Chat Noire-style nails echoing about her bedroom as she texts. Plagg dozes above Chloé’s head, or rather, on the head of the lounge so as not to mess up her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> come over</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> Can’t. Busy right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> my parents arnt home</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> Can’t. Busy right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> omg with what</span>
</p><p><b>[bug]:</b> <em><span>Sent an audio file.</span></em></p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> It’s a work in progress. Not that I care, but what do you think?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé hits play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, her quiet bedroom is filled with the aggressive strums of an acoustic guitar. Hard, fast, cutting, the notes slice through the air. Chords are held just long enough to draw in, but are cut short abruptly. A repeating pattern. There’s something raw, feral about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plagg blinks his large, jade eyes down at the phone. “Sorry hellcat. It sounds nice,” he yawns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>like it,” Chloé mutters back at him, already typing a response. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The traitor. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She reaches up and smacks Plagg in retribution. On the top of his head. Gently. With one finger. Behind the ears. He purrs in response, becoming boneless under her touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> wtf am i listening to</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> A heart song.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> ooh does someone have a crush</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> has the parasite found a suitable host?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> sounds lame tho</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka’s next texts come in rapid-fire succession. She smirks, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling </span>
  </em>
  <span>the boy’s agitation from the messages alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> Its</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> *It’s</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> what I</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> hear when I see someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> The “song” they give off, if you will.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> It’s NOT romantic.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> Whatever, what did you want, kitten?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>text. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It shouldn’t bother her like this, but Chloé’s heart skips a beat and she colors a little at the most recent message on her phone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kitten. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If Luka was here, no doubt he’d be sneering it in that aggravating way of his instead of crooning it like some cheesy Korean drama male lead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé blames Plagg for her Pavlovian response. See if she lets the little god have a turn picking a Netflix show to watch again!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> oh ya</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> theres an akuma</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> i think hes coming 4 me</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> You can’t take care of this one yourself then?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And normally, he’d be right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akumas with a grudge towards Luka (very rare), Chloé (a little less… </span>
  <em>
    <span>rare </span>
  </em>
  <span>), or any of their friends and family (surprisingly common) are usually easier to take down because the heroes are familiar with how their un-akumatized selves act and respond. Several times, Chat Noire had defeated an akuma mostly by herself, only having to wait at the end for Red Beetle to show up and perform a Lucky Charm. This is most useful for when one of them gets caught up in an akuma’s attacks in their civilian form, or when they can’t get away to a private place to transform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé rubs her temples.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> hes coming for me as Chloé</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His response is instantaneous and </span>
  <em>
    <span>dripping </span>
  </em>
  <span>with smug condescension.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> Nice. This is… the fifth one?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> Sixth?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> shut up it wasn’t my fault this time</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> you have no choice just come over</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[bug]:</b>
  <span> Fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s displeased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all the blue-haired boy proclaims about ‘doing his duty’ and ‘saving Paris,’ he’s prickly about having his precious music time interrupted. Oh, Luka’d never verbalize what he’s feeling, always putting up that same static smile for the deakumatized victim or the Ladyblog, but Chloé sees it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Red Beetle would constrict the akuma with his yoyo, pulling </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>a bit too tightly. The clipped quality of his voice when he activates his powers, his “Lucky Charm” taking a millisecond less to say. That slight eye twitch as he helps a disoriented citizen to their feet, a crack on his pleasant mask that’s plastered over in a blink of an eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a bratty bitch, honestly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Another bratty bitch flops down from the lounge head, having rolled over the edge from lying on his back for scritches. Said bitch snuggles in Chloé’s golden locks, creating a messy, makeshift nest as she fires off a few more texts.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> .</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> we have a few guitars</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Chloé Bourgeois]:</b>
  <span> if u can keep it down, you can borrow one of them while you guard me</span>
</p><p><b>[bug]:</b> <em><span>is typing…</span></em></p><p>
  <span>The blonde heiress exits out of the messaging app before she sees his response. There was no need to read it. He’d be here in less than five minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are your parents?” Red Beetle questions her as he lands on her balcony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé ushers him inside and closes the door. “Daddy is a very busy man,” she answers imperiously. “He’s running this awful town on top of managing the hotel. He’s probably at work right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka peers around her very spacious, very empty bedroom. He doesn’t look too impressed as he strides to the guitar display Chloé had Butler Jean wheel up. “And your mom? Is she busy with work too or something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mind flashes to a slender, crisply-cut silhouette, a back turned, steps taken out the door. She purses her lips, reaches out for her sangria. Takes a swig. The chilled, diluted wine goes down cold. Plagg watches her disapprovingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or something,” Chloé says offhandedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red Beetle takes the hint quickly because he clears his throat and turns to the covered guitar rack pointedly. Slowly, he removes the covering. When all five guitars are on display--two acoustic, three electric, all in flashy color schemes--he pauses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These guitars… who did they belong to?” Luka asks, not turning around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé peers over her drink. “Some rockstar that stays here a lot whenever he tours. I think his name was Pointy Rock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jagged Stone,” Red Beetle corrects her, his voice soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ladybug-spotted fingers trail over the glossy surface of one of the guitars. She recalls how underneath the suit, his nails are also painted black, though with red accents instead of green--they’re Red Beetle-themed. Like her nails do with her clothes, Luka’s nails similarly clash spectacularly with his outfit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you a fan of his or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka shrugs, a strange smile on his face. “Or something,” he parrots back at her blandly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few moments of contemplation, the dark-haired hero selects a metallic lavender, copper, and white-colored guitar and produces a pick from one of his suit pockets. He makes himself comfortable on the floor, sitting with his legs criss-crossed and the guitar propped up on his right thigh. Soon, soft, peaceful music fills the air, dissipating whatever strangeness lay between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t play the fast-paced rhythm he’d sent her earlier. Instead, the music Luka plays now could only be described as unmethodical, impulsive, like stray thoughts loosely connected together in the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No heart song, huh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, your majesty,” Red Beetle says, gesturing around the luxurious bedroom, “brief me on this akuma. I need to know what you got us into.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So let me get this straight...” Red Beetle’s statement is punctuated by a string of ascending notes. “You were just trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help </span>
  </em>
  <span>this Nathaniel guy.” The final note rings, matching the note of incredulity in the boy’s voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé scoffs, crossing her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously. He looked so pathetic it was impossible not to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So when he dropped his sketchbook to reveal his crush on this..?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Blue hair. Annoying goodie two shoes. Reminds me of you, actually, though her clothes are actually kind of cute--don’t tell her I said that though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Luka answers sarcastically. A few staccato notes, carefully spaced to sound equally as sarcastic. “Anyways, this Marinette. When you saw the drawings of her, your first instinct was to tell him, and I quote, ‘it’s hopeless’ and ‘she’d never go for a guy like him’?” As he speaks, the spotted hero makes air-quotes in the air while raising an eyebrow at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She likes someone else. I was just trying to spare him the heartbreak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You humiliated him in front of the entire class.” An angry chord cut short, reminiscent of the heart song from earlier. He looks like he wants to strangle her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips twitch. “Didn’t mean to?” she offers, keeping her tone innocent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughed </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him!” The guitar is abandoned now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, lighten up bug, some of those drawings were downright ridiculous,” Chloé laughs. She gives up altogether on the remorseful shtick. “He has this one where she’s swooning into his chest like it’s a romance book cover. Kurtzberg is half an inch shorter than her and he has the </span>
  <em>
    <span>shrimpiest </span>
  </em>
  <span>arms I’ve ever seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it’s Luka’s turn to reign in his amusement. He bites his lip to keep his expression blank, but Chloé sees the way his fingers waver over the guitar strings, as well as the mirth in those teal orbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… still wrong,” the boy posits. A gleam passes over Chloé’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning forward, she adds conspiratorially, “Her dialogue box said ‘Oh Nathaniel, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>strong! Thank you for rescuing me!’” Her voice rises up in a pitchy falsetto as she recites the cringey lines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Luka… </span>
  <em>
    <span>snorts </span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever… do you have any paper and a pen?” he asks quickly to cover up his laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé hands him her chemistry homework and a blue pen. Luka rolls his eyes but just turns the page over and starts marking up potential battle strategies on the back--though not before filling out a couple of the example problems and writing little notes for which parts of the book to study. He’d done the exact same assignment last year, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is their routine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they have the time to prepare for an akuma before confrontation--and if they feel civil enough to not throttle each other on sight--Red Beetle and Chat Noire will rendezvous to brainstorm and review tactics. Currently, Chloé’s math, history, and chemistry homework lay in a semi-circle on the floor surrounding Red Beetle, their backs covered with blue ink. Battle maneuvers with names like “Balancing Burst of Glacier Lightning” and “Swift Butterfly Kiss” are illustrated with stick figures against the major monuments of Paris as potential arenas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...and when you grab his attention, you lure him to the Trocadéro where I will be waiting to execute a Regal Dragonfly Rush. Evillustrator will find it difficult to erase anything with all the open space.” Luka finishes up the plan as he speaks, dark hair bent over the back of Chloé’s review of the liberation of Paris. He glances up, teal eyes holding her icy orbs. “Got it, kitten?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé smiles indulgently. “Yes, bug.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all very detailed and well-thought out. Chloé almost feels bad when she receives a long awaited text from Marinette.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Marinette Dupain-Cheng]:</b>
  <span> Evillustrator visited and asked me out on a date</span>
</p><p><b>[Marinette Dupain-Cheng]:</b> <em><span>attached an image.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Chloé takes another sip of her sangria before setting it down. “Oh, by the way,” the blonde says offhandedly, “we’re crashing Evillustrator and Marinette’s date at sunset. It’ll be at the Seine on a boat. Dupain-Cheng just texted me the details.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pen Luka holds </span>
  <em>
    <span>snaps </span>
  </em>
  <span>into two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Plagg cackles. “Nice one, hellcat,” the little god chortles approvingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>death glare </span>
  </em>
  <span>they receive for that little stunt…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé commits it to memory. She will treasure it forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, she should have been suspicious. With how happy the blonde was in that moment, there had to be some invisible scale that was tipped and that demanded some sort of compensation, a swing in the opposite direction. Happiness demands an equal measure of pain, and all that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just didn’t think it would be so soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Specifically--two hours, thirty-four minutes, and seventeen, eighteen, nineteen seconds later, after they’ve defeated Evillustrator in a very creative, very intense, and also very vague fight sequence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow! That was amazing!” Marinette exclaims. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s dripping wet from plunging into the Seine River, but still the half-Chinese girl is grinning like she’s just won Gabriel’s fashion contest--which she did, but whatever. Chloé still isn’t salty about that. Next to Marinette stands a suited-up Chloé, equally drenched, but with a mood the polar opposite of her classmate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is that? Well, it’s because Chat Noire Is witness to literally the Worst Sight Ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red Beetle hasn’t said anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gosh, I was so scared, but Chat Noire came in like--” Marinette mimes the cat heroine extending her baton to smack Evillistratore across the boat’s deck “--and then Evillustrator was all--” the girl executes a series of karate chops similar to how Evillustrator retaliated “--but the best part was your Lucky Charm, Red Beetle. Amazing, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of it, Marinette’s face is a light rose pink. She has her hands clasped over her thoughts as she stares adoringly at Paris’s superhero duo. Chloé notes that while Marinette praises both of them, Red Beetle is clearly her favorite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red Beetle </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>hasn’t said anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, we’re stunning, you’re welcome,” Chat Noire replies flippantly, and if her voice comes out a little more bitter than usual, well. It is expected that the goodie two shoes would side with the dumpster fire. Chat Noire scowls, turns to her side, and smacks her silent partner across the back of his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Oi! Bug. Get started on failing target practice, hm? This century would be nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ngh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red Beetle </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks </span>
  </em>
  <span>like he wants to say something when he looks at Chloé, but when his eyes drift over to Marinette, he immediately shuts up and nods mutely. With a smile that looks more like a grimace, Luka shakily calls for his de-evilizer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him seven--</span>
  <em>
    <span>seven! Holy shit-- </span>
  </em>
  <span>tries to catch the akuma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marinette gives her a smile that makes her stomach flip, not unlike when the stupid Fall Out Boy reject does when he’s a little less intolerable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I think the adrenaline is wearing off. Sorry about that, ehehe,” the navy-haired girl tells her. “I just wanted to say thank you. Both of you. You’re doing a lot to protect Paris, and I understand it’s not always easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé blinks, taken by surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… sure, Dupai--random citizen,” the blonde stammers out. She’s unused to this sort of attention. Flattery? Yes. Actual, genuine gratitude? Um...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marinette smiles again, though this time it has a dreamy, faraway quality. No doubt her idiot classmate was having idiotic thoughts again. “Tell Chloé thanks from me too for giving you a heads up. And… your partner too, yes? You both make a good team and a cute couple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Great, a romantic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé wants to scream. Or barf. Preferably both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because when the Miraculous Cure comes into effect--whisking away the other girl back home and reverting all of the akuma’s damage--that same stupid, vomit inducing expression remains on Luka’s face like gross acne that’s been picked: eyes wide, jaw slack, cheeks painted an embarrassingly bright red. Right now, the young musician is the poster boy for puppy love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that is the horrible, terrible sight Chloé would have given half her inheritance to erase--well, maybe not half. A quarter. At the very least, she wants to erase the ugly feeling sprouting in her chest when she sees Luka fall hard and fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s pity, of course. The same expression she felt with Nathaniel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka’s transformation falls off in a flash of rose light. Tikki glances at her wielder with tired amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he says dazedly to thin air. Apparently, his brain is lagging, evident by how he’s responding to a conversation from five minutes ago. “No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>amazing, I couldn’t have done it without you distracting Evillustrator. So um, y-you attend--”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh, so gross! Make it stop! He has no business acting all lovey-dovey!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé reaches into Luka’s inner pocket, nimbly lifting out the package of dry cookies. After tossing that and a packaged mozzarella stick to the exhausted kwamis, she glares at her partner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How dare he look at Marinette like that in front of her! Seriously? The nerve of this guy to do something so… so disgusting. Pitiful. Someone has to stop him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She considers it a favor, really, when she kicks him back into the Seine.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>there's not actually a plot. i'm just writing a bunch of one-shots in this universe, pffft. i do read the comments though, and i totally agree--more kwami interaction, maybe someday i'll do a luka chapter, who knows. cya and good night :)</p><p>edit on 8/4: changed luka's contact name. threw formatting out the window in favor of simple bolded contact names. my eyes burn a little less now :')</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. you fit the description</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Plagg, get over here!” Chloé yells in the direction of her bed. “I need you to take a picture for me!”</p><p>Nothing. </p><p>Then again, that was par the course for the slothful kwami. It usually took a few calls and a stinky bribe to summon Plagg. Right now, she was on call numero tres and a platter of camembert was on its way from the kitchens.</p><p>In the meantime, Chloé lets out a huff from her vanity, displacing a loose strand of hair above her forehead. Her reflection in the vanity mirror eyes her critically--from the barely imperfect cat eye makeup, to the light scuff on the side of her shades, to the slightly uneven waviness of her shoulder-length hair. Frowning, the blonde bunches up her hair and bends it on itself so that there’s a few inches between the bottom of it and her shoulders. She then moves a bit of her hair over to imitate bangs.</p><p>
  <em> Maybe… if I look like this... </em>
</p><p>“What do you think--should I have my hair cut?” she asks again, this time turning around to show Plagg. “I was thinking of straightening it too--hey, what’s the matter with you?”</p><p>Plagg is currently laying on his stomach across one of her bed’s pillows. His ears droop sadly down the side of his oversized head. His three whiskers lie about him limply. A miserable expression has replaced his normally shit-eating grin.</p><p>He looks <em> awful. </em></p><p><em> “I feel awwwwfuuuuul!”  </em>Plagg whines, flailing his tiny paws like an infant--a ridiculously powerful, thousand-year-old infant that just happens to have the power to destroy <em> anything </em> with a single touch. “I can’t believe it! I’m siiiiiiick! I never get sick, this is <em> Tikki’s </em>job!”</p><p>Chloé pokes his squishy body. Plagg doesn’t snap playfully at the offending digit. The kwami just groans pitifully.</p><p>“Can kwami even <em> get </em> sick?” she asks incredulously, her forehead creased with what was definitely <em> annoyance </em> that their Super Selfie Session is on hold, not from <em> worry </em> or any of those other disgusting plebeian emotions.</p><p>To her horror though, Plagg curls in on himself, shivering. <em> “Ughgghghghgh it hurts, hellcat--” </em></p><p>“Okay, okay--fine! You’re sick. What can I do to make it better?” Perfectly-manicured nails dig into her hair, messing it up completely. She’s not panicking. She’s <em> not. </em></p><p>Plagg cracks open an eye. Chloé quickly schools her expression to look mildly put-out.</p><p>“I know a spot.”</p><p>-x-</p><p>Fifteen minutes later, Chloé finds herself standing on the right bank of the Seine in one of the seedier parts of town. Really, she should have expected this--the whole kwami telling her he “knows a spot” and then leading her to the <em> shadiest </em> massage parlor she had ever seen in her life.</p><p>“You have got to be kidding me,” the blonde deadpans, crossing her arms. <em>"T</em><em>his </em> is the place? Inside <em> this </em>place, there is a healer that can make you better?”</p><p>Plagg peers out blearily from her side-purse. He lets out another pathetic groan, which Chloé unfortunately translates to an affirmative. After scanning the area around her to make sure they weren’t being followed--this street really was a far cry from the shining, pristine steps of Le Grand Paris--Chloé reluctantly knocks on the locked door.</p><p>“If you’re wrong about this,” she hisses, “we’re switching from camembert to straight mozzarella. That’s probably what got you sick in the first place--”</p><p>A pained whine from her hip. <em>"</em><em>Nooooo--” </em></p><p><em> “--yes </em> ,” Chloé replies viciously, “and if that doesn’t work, we’re trying <em> cat food--” </em></p><p>“--<em> I’m not even a cat ughghgh--” </em></p><p>“--that’s not what you said when you were eyeing the cat tower on sale,” Chloé retorts.</p><p>Plagg pops his head out from the purse, a hint of that same old indignation in his sleepy eyes. “You saw the shape of that thing! It <em> has </em>to come with a cool box!”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>“...I hate it here.” He shrinks back into his wallowing hole.</p><p>“Then get <em> better </em> already so we can <em> leave--” </em></p><p>The door swings open and Chloé’s mouth clamps shut. She places a hand defensively over her sling purse--both to cover and to keep the normally-rambunctious kwami inside. She faces forward to greet the masseuse, but only sees air. Until she looks down…</p><p>And down…</p><p>And down…</p><p>Chloé stares down at a short, old Chinese man wearing the most god-awful khaki and red Hawaiian shirt combination she had ever seen in her <em> life </em>. Seriously, that look should be illegal. On the bright side though, a pair of kind eyes and a bemused, but gentle smile greets her right back.</p><p>“Welcome, Chat Noire. I am Wang Fu. I have been waiting for you for some time,” Wang Fu greets. “Come in, come in. Where is Plagg?”</p><p>The blonde bites back the instinctive denial that rises up--keeping the kwami and her superhero double life was second nature at this point--and walks inside dazedly.</p><p><em> “‘Mmm’here, Master,”  </em>Plagg moans. </p><p>“Oh my. You are in poor shape, old friend,” the elderly man tuts. “It is good you came to me now, when there is no akuma on the loose. That would have been disastrous.”</p><p>Plagg pathetically moans some more.</p><p>Chloé soon finds herself kneeling at a low table, peering over a splayed out Plagg--<em> worriedly, okay, fine-- </em>as ‘Master Fu’ rings a few chimes over him. Honestly, she doesn’t understand half of what’s going on, but this guy’s apparently the Guardian of the Miraculous, whatever that means. </p><p>After a few more rings, the elderly man sets down the brass instrument and sits across from her calmly.</p><p>“And now, we wait,” he says serenely.</p><p>Still tense, Chloé takes her eyes off of Plagg to give him a curt nod. She has a million burning questions on her tongue: Will Plagg be okay? How did he get sick? Why was she given the Black Cat Miraculous? Why was that My Chemical Romance reject her partner? Where did you get such an ugly shirt?</p><p>She doesn’t say them though, opting for uncomfortable, awkward silence.</p><p>Master Fu snorts in polite Chinese.</p><p>“Yes. It is a natural phenomenon that happens with all kwami if they get wet for long periods of time.” Chloé thinks back to the epic, vague underwater fight scene she had with Evillustrator. “You were chosen because you fit the description of an exceptional Chat Noire. The same reason applies to Red Beetle. And the shirt is a gift from a very old, very dear friend, thank you very much.”</p><p>Cool blue eyes bug out in surprise as Master Fu eyes her with guarded amusement.</p><p>“How did--”</p><p>“You mouth your questions, even if you do not say them aloud,” he explains.</p><p>“Well--” Chloé crosses her arms “--since you’re answering them instead of playing the ‘mysterious master’ card--” she’s seen <em> Karate Kid </em> “--why me? Because I didn’t even want to <em> be </em>Chat Noire, and I don’t think the criteria for a great one is ‘someone who would rather sit back and be rescued instead of losing sleep every other night.’ If it wasn’t for that bug, I wouldn’t even have helped in the first place, much less keep this whole hero thing secret.”</p><p>She’s always been critical of herself, even if everyone else thought otherwise. She’s also not <em> deaf. </em> She hears her partner’s grumbled musings, listens to the Paris’s citizens whisper amongst themselves “<em>Her? Really?”  </em>even when she’s in costume.</p><p>Maybe a small part of her wants this, a confirmation from the man who gave her the power that she was <em> worthy </em> of using it <em> . </em> </p><p>She tries not to let that insecurity seep into her expression--<em> blood in the water </em> and all that. She almost succeeds.</p><p>Master Fu hums, leaning back into his seat cushion.</p><p>“Red Beetle has shown himself to be the type to… follow <em> rules </em> and <em> conventions </em> to the letter. It <em> was </em>most fortunate he dragged you to the fight to uphold his vision of a superhero duo--forgive my wording,” he adds hurriedly when Chloé glares at him. If Chloé didn’t know any better, she would have called his tone before that almost… disappointed. She feels a little protective irritation for the spotted hero regardless. “But… don’t you think you have proven yourself to be a capable Chat Noire?”</p><p>“Capable?” she snorts. “That’s new.”</p><p>“It is true that reckless, have an off-and-on regard for your partner’s safety, care too much about how you <em> look </em> when you fight rather than <em> how-- </em>”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“--but has Plagg filled you in on the lore behind the Miraculouses?”</p><p>“A little. I haven’t asked much…” </p><p>“Then you should know that the Miraculouses of the Black Cat and Ladybug are the strongest, equal in power to only each other. If you really wanted to, you could have resisted Red Beetle every time he ‘dragged you’ to an akuma battle. You could have even ignored the summons, passed the Miraculous onto someone else, or even turned evil like Hawkmoth.”</p><p>The thought makes Chloé sick. “I would <em> never!”  </em>she hisses.</p><p>Never turn her back on Plagg. Never lash out at Paris.</p><p><em> “ </em> Precisely <em> . </em> Nearly everyone thinks you have the capacity, but not me, not Plagg, and certainly not your partner. Your actions speak louder than words,” Master Fu says kindly as he bows his head respectfully, “and I am honored to have you as our Chat Noire.”</p><p>She feels like something is stuck in her throat. Her bottom lip trembles. Her vision <em> might </em> have even gotten a <em> tiny </em> bit blurry.</p><p>
  <em> Dammit. </em>
</p><p>“O-oh,” Chloé stammers, trying to save face. “I-I mean, I’m just--it’s not a big deal or anything, anyone would have d-done the same. Of course <em> I’m </em>doing an amazing job though, th-that’s expected--”</p><p>Master Fu chuckles and her cheeks turn even redder.</p><p>Thankfully, Plagg chooses that moment to stir. And stir he does, flopping over to his stomach and almost rolling off the table. Chloé pushes him from the edge with one painted-black finger. </p><p>“Everything <em> huuuurrrrtsss, </em> hellcat," the literal god of destruction complains. “And I’m so <em> hungry…” </em></p><p>“Baby,” she mocks Plagg, inwardly letting out a sigh of relief. “You’re feeling better. You just want more cheese out of it.” The black kwami nips at her finger, further proving her point that he’s back to his usual self.</p><p>After dodging the bite, Chloé opens her purse. </p><p>“Come on, let’s go home,” the blonde cajoles.</p><p>Plagg blinks at her, but doesn’t move from where he’s <em> definitely </em>lounging on the table. A few hours of being sick and already he’s milking it like he’s been comatose for years. She’s so proud of him. She’s been pulling the same trick with her father since forever.</p><p>Fortunately, she also knows the easiest and fastest way around it.</p><p>Bribery.</p><p>“We can order that 250 € box--I mean cat tower--you were eyeing.” Plagg’s ears twitch with interest. “And,” Chloé indulges him, “if you’re good, you can have the rest of the camembert in the mini fridge. Good kwamis go with their wielders when they say so though…”</p><p>“Deal!” Plagg zips into the bag as the Guardian of the Miraculous watches their interaction with a smile.</p><p>Chloé nods at Master Fu. </p><p>“Thanks,” she mumbles quickly, trying to leave as soon as possible--not because she hates it here like she’d claimed to, or she’s uncomfortable, because she’s not, but rather the opposite. There’s too much open kindness in this Master Fu guy, and not of the worshipping variety. It makes Chloé... nervous.</p><p>She can’t decide if she likes it or not. She doesn’t want to stick around long enough to think about it.</p><p>“Plagg seems to like you, and he’s notoriously picky. Another point in your favor, Chat Noire,” Master Fu calls after her.</p><p>“...” With a hand on the doorknob, Chloé lets out a huff that is half-embarrassment, half-pleasure. “Whatever, old man. And just call me ‘Chloé’ or ‘Miss Bourgeois.’ Calling me ‘Chat Noire’ is confusing and I’d rather go by my actual name… but you already knew that, right?”</p><p>A beat of silence.</p><p>“Yes, I did. It was nice to meet you. Have a good day… Miss Bourgeois,” Master Fu sends her off.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Luka gives her a vaguely-horrified look when she arrives at their spot early the next morning.</p><p>“You look happy. Skin a few dalmations on your way here?” the dark-haired teen asks snidely. He stands casually with the bikes at the front of their high school, looking like a raccoon with his eyebags.</p><p>
  <em> Probably stayed up late working on his ‘heart songs’ or whatever again... </em>
</p><p>The blonde passes him his double espresso, making sure to give him a clear view of her middle finger as she does so. Muscle reflex. In return, Luka tosses a paper parcel--stamped with the Dupain-Cheng logo of course, as he’s set on becoming quite the <em> regular </em>at Marinette’s parents’ bakery--into her face. Chloé opens it to reveal a slice of baguette that’s been pre-spread with butter.</p><p>Chloé takes a bite, savoring the cool saltiness of the butter against the warm, fresh bread. On her second bite, she leans up against Luka’s bike.</p><p>“First off--fuck you,” she says through the food. Luka’s eye twitches at the sight. </p><p>“Ever heard of swallowing?” he mutters under his breath.</p><p>She ignores him. Her tone becomes much more smug as she continues, “Second--I met the ‘Guardian of the Miraculous' yesterday. He told me I was, <em> and I quote </em>, an ‘exceptional’ Chat Noire.”</p><p>Her superhero partner’s aura shifts from light, slightly-edged teasing to something darker. A shadow crosses over his teal eyes as he takes an aggressive sip of his coffee and grumbles, <em> “ </em> Obviously. <em> I </em> could have told you that.”</p><p>
  <em> ..? </em>
</p><p>Chloé arches an eyebrow.</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong--you’re a pain in my ass, but you show up. You do your duty. I could ask for a better partner… but you’ll do.” A long, world-weary sigh. “<em> I guess.” </em></p><p>“Careful, bug, any more of that and Césaire’ll have the weekly content she needs for her gossip rag.”</p><p>“I’m just <em> saying </em> --” Luka flicks her forehead unnecessarily <em> hard </em> “--you don’t need some <em> random guy </em> to tell you this stuff, even if he is the Guardian, because I'm right here.”</p><p>Chloé rubs the quickly-reddening spot on her face irritably. “Quit that! You’re ruining my makeup,” she snaps. “Anyways, even if I were to believe it from <em>you, </em>it just hits differently coming from an old Chinese man. Makes me feel like I’m the Daniel to his Mr. Miyagi. He has the beard and everything.”</p><p>Luka stills. </p><p>Then, the storm clouds brewing over his head disappear. He gives her a devious grin behind the rim of his cup. Like this, the teenage boy looks like a shark that’s scented blood in the water.</p><p>Chloé tenses.</p><p>
  <em> Oh no. </em>
</p><p>“So that’s how it is? Didn’t know you needed the encouragement, kitten,” he murmurs in that sarcastic, grating voice of his. Chloé’s own cup of coffee threatens to explode in her too-tight grip. “The great Chloé Bourgeois? Insecure? Never would have thought.”</p><p>“I didn’t, and I’m <em> not!” </em> she retorts. Breakfast forgotten, the blonde allocates her full attention to wiping that <em> ridiculous </em> smirk off her <em> ridiculous </em> partner’s face. “God, you’re so irritating, you can’t handle it when our literal <em> boss </em>said I’m doing a good job! I can’t believe this--did you know he basically called you conventional and boring? Because he totally did, and--”</p><p>So engrossed is she in her rant that Chloé doesn’t notice the soft smile Luka hides around another--now calm--sip of the double espresso, nor does she hear his single word response right before she went off at him:</p><p>
  <em> “Good.” </em>
</p><p>And until the first of the other students arrive on campus, the pair exchange semi-companionable, occasionally hostile conversation, flick crumbs of their finished breakfasts at each others’ clothes, and watch the sun rise.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Paris's little golden boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey there again paris is still standing somehow yes yes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey. Let’s do ‘Sunlight Trap.’”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. This is definitely a ‘Double Feather Volley.’”</p><p>A self-assured smirk stretches his lips as Red Beetle regards his partner. In the soft moonlight and with the gentle breeze ruffling through his teal locks, he almost looks… handsome? Not that she’d ever admit <em> that. </em> Chat Noire haughtily meets that gaze, arms crossed and will iron. </p><p>“Come on, kitten,” he hums. “When have my strategies ever been wrong?”</p><p>The answer is <em> never. </em> </p><p>If Red Beetle studies the akuma and has the time to actually come up with a strategy for it, it’s foolproof.  Somehow, he’s <em> always </em> able to predict their enemies’ actions twenty steps or five minutes ahead… which means that Chat Noire’s job is <em> buying </em>him that time whenever they face a harder opponent. Because Red Beetle is always right, at least for this.</p><p>Chat Noire lets out a “tch” and turns back to the akuma.</p><p>A few minutes later, they stand in the aftermath of Awful Canon. The Miraculous Cure swirls around them, glowing red and pink ladybugs righting all the damage wrought by their battle. When the last of the destruction has been erased, only Red Beetle and Chat Noire are left… and Red Beetle is <em> staring at her. </em></p><p>He’s staring, but not with the post-battle half-approving, half-resigned look reserved just for her, instead the spotted hero is looking at her fondly. <em> Gently, </em>with his lips upturned softly and those teal eyes carrying none of the usual hard edges. He looks like a completely different person, even though the lighting, setting, and situation is the same as earlier. The blonde heroine finds herself unable to move under that gaze.</p><p>Frankly? It’s <em> terrifying </em>. </p><p>But…</p><p>A teeny, tiny part of her finds that she doesn’t mind it. Sorta. Kinda. It’s up in the air, really.</p><p>“Chloé,” Red Beetle says suddenly, reaching out a hand. “Chloé Bourgeois.”</p><p>Chat Noire blinks owlishly. There’s an unspoken rule between them: never say each other’s names in the costume. Hell, they barely called each other by their hero names, almost always opting for a derogatory nickname.</p><p>
  <em> Why would he-- </em>
</p><p>“Chloé Bourgeois <em> wake up!” </em></p><p>Suddenly, she’s not Chat Noire standing in a desolate Paris street late at night--she’s now Chloé Bourgeois, and she’s at school in the middle of the afternoon.</p><p>Chloé snaps her head up, the room’s bright light and the sudden movement making her wince. Her Miraculous ring had left a shallow imprint on her left cheek and she lifts a finger to it before yanking her hand back down. Finally, she makes herself meet the gaze of a peeved-looking Ms. Mendeleiev, resolutely ignoring the amused grins of her fellow classmates.</p><p>“Thank you for joining the class, Chloé,” Ms. Mendeleiev says condescendingly. “Now that you’ve had your beauty sleep, would you care to balance the chemical combustion on the board?”</p><p>The board reads: C<sub>8</sub>H<sub>18</sub>(l)+O<sub>2</sub>(g)⟶CO<sub>2</sub>(g)+H<sub>2</sub>O(g)</p><p>The blonde sighs. After a few moments of working it out, she leans her chin into her hand and answers boredly, “The balanced chemical equation of the combustion of isooctane has 16 carbon atoms, 36 hydrogen atoms, and 50 oxygen atoms on each side, or 2 isooctane molecules and 25 oxygen molecules for the reactants, and 16 carbon dioxide molecules and 18 water molecules for the products.”</p><p>Stunned silence ensues. Everyone is staring at Chloé as if she’d just admitted to moonlighting as a leather-suited cat girl that fought crime every other night. She worries for a bit, before realizing no, it’s just because she’d studied before the akuma fight and forgot to pretend like she hadn’t.</p><p><em> “ </em>What?” she demands, crossing her arms.</p><p>
  <em> Stupid Luka and his ridiculous strategy meetings and his ridiculous notes. </em>
</p><p>“That’s…” Ms. Mendeleiev peers at her teacher’s guide. A glimmer of surprised approval flashes over her glasses. “Why, that’s <em> correct </em>, Miss Bourgeois. Good to know your sleeplessness is from studying.”</p><p>Chloé opens her mouth to argue--slamming Awful Canon through the school’s library floors late into the night hardly counts as hitting the books--but ultimately decides against it.</p><p>“Well, of course <em> I </em>would get it,” she instead gloats smugly, if not sleepily.</p><p>Meanwhile, the sharp-tongued instructor rounds onto her next victim. “Marinette,” she barks, “balance the next equation.”</p><p>“Huh?!”</p><p>The dark-haired girl lets out a muffled shriek and somehow manages to knock all of her books off the desk. And spill her pen’s ink. And throw her calculator across the room.</p><p><em> Is this girl seriously my competition? </em> Chloé thinks. <em> Ridiculous. </em></p><p>Competition here means a competitor for Luka’s attention in a detached<em> , professional </em>way.</p><p>Because unlike in her dream, last night’s akuma aftermath consisted of Red Beetle camping out on some random secluded rooftop, detransformed, and staring out longingly at a certain bakery’s balcony… which meant that a similarly detransformed Chloé was there to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, like moon out there for hours like some creepy stalker. </p><p>He ended up doing <em> just that </em>, but hey, she at least tried to get him to talk to Marinette, maybe get it out of his system.</p><p>At least Chloé got some homework done during that time. The weather up on that rooftop was quite nice too.</p><p>Before she knew it, the bell had rung, signalling the end of class. Chloé’s half-heartedly responding to Sabrina’s conversations, stifling a big yawn, and packing her bag--careful not to hit Plagg in there with any of her books--when a shadow looms over her. She looks up, then smiles widely.</p><p>It’s Adrien. More than that--it’s Adrien <em> without </em> his little loser entourage of Lahiffe, Césaire, and most importantly, Dupain-Cheng. Instead, those three are standing at the door, watching them. Right now, the model looks a little nervous, but determined.</p><p>“Hey Chloé.”</p><p>“Adrikins!” Chloé gushes. “Did you see me earlier with that awful teacher? I was so cool, wasn’t I?” </p><p>
  <em> Hey, might as well milk that sort of thing. </em>
</p><p>“Well,” Adrien says shyly, rubbing the back of his neck, “that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m struggling a bit in this unit and I was wondering if you could maybe tutor me for the chem test next week? It’s okay if you don’t want to--”</p><p>Chloé practically jumps from her seat. She may have been sleep-deprived and ready to take a nice, long cat nap at home, but an invitation from <em> Adrien </em> to <em> come over </em> for some <em> one on one time? </em> She’s wide awake now.</p><p>“No no no no, it’s okay! I would <em> love </em>to tutor you!”</p><p>“Oh, well, thanks! I appreciate it. I’ll tell Nathalie you’re coming over then.” The blond model relaxes, despite having his arm being glomped by the hotel heiress. He gives her another nervous--but this time sort of excited--smile as he disentangles himself to wave goodbye. “See you later, Chloé.”</p><p>Behind Adrien’s back, Chloé smirks at a frowning Nino, scowling Alya, and a jealous-looking Marinette. </p><p>“Later, Adrikins,” she purrs, wiggling her fingers.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Tutoring Adrien is… weird. There are three things that stand out to Chloé in particular.</p><p>The first: while waiting for the Agreste limousine to swing by the school, Adrien is extremely antsy.</p><p>“Did you already ask for permission to come over?”</p><p>“Permission?” Chloé parrots, confused. She shakes her head. “My father doesn’t care.”</p><p>Adrien nods. “What about the help--Jean, was it?”</p><p>The teenage girl is even more puzzled now. “Um… no? Why would I? Why would they care?”</p><p>“Yeah. No, I get it. Sure.” Then, in a blatant attempt to play it off, but in reality accomplishing the opposite, Adrien adds, “Cool.”</p><p>
  <em> …what. </em>
</p><p>The second: the secretary, Nathalie Sancoeur, spends almost fifteen minutes on the phone talking to Gabriel Agreste before Chloé could even step foot on the property.</p><p>Adrien looks at her apologetically as the bodyguard, secretary, two students, and god of destruction wait at the front of the mansion’s locked gate. It’s <em> so </em>tense. Chloé half-expects a submachine gun to pop out from the column and point directly at her.</p><p>“It’s just Miss Bourgeois, sir,” Nathalie states into the phone. “No, she’s alone. No one else.”</p><p>There’s a tense silence as the fashion designer responds curtly. The four not involved in the conversation know it’s curt from the miniscule wince Nathalie lets out. To her credit, the secretary doesn’t move away from the phone.</p><p>“Yes. A… studying session.” </p><p>A pause. The Gorilla shrugs at Chloé.</p><p>“Mhmm, I understand sir. No longer than two hours.”</p><p>Another pause, longer this time. Chloé glances into her bag at a peeved-looking Plagg.</p><p>“Right away. Have a good--” </p><p>
  <em> Click! </em>
</p><p>Nathalie smiles flatly. “Welcome to the Agreste home,” she tells Chloé.</p><p>The third: Adrien Agreste is a chemistry <em> god. </em></p><p>They’re sitting in the ‘living room’ portion of Adrien’s bedroom. The coffee table is laden with notebooks, their chemistry textbooks, and a platter of barely-touched snacks. From where she sits on the main grey couch--upside down, with her back on the seat and her legs propped up on the couch’s back--Chloé throws questions from her flashcards at a rapid-fire pace.</p><p>“--hat is the percentage yield?”</p><p>“54.3 percent of nitrobenzene.”</p><p>“Which of the following elements forms a +3 ion?”</p><p>“Aluminum.”</p><p>“Percentage of nitrogen in ammonium carbonate?”</p><p>“29.16 percent.”</p><p>Frustrated, Chloé throws the study cards in the air after her childhood friend gets the tenth question right on the first try without even batting an eye. As the cards flutter down, she glares at Adrien, who lounges casually in the armchair beside her.</p><p>“Okay. <em>What</em> <em>the fu--</em>what is going on? I thought you wanted me to help you with this shi<em>--stuff</em>, but you haven’t one glanced at your notes and you’ve barely touched your calculator!” Chloé rants, careful not to cuss in front of the cinnamon roll. Said cinnamon roll has the decency to at least look ashamed for being such a nerd. </p><p>Still, the other boy grins sheepishly.</p><p>“What if I just wanted to review for the test with a friend?” Adrien tries. He’s a horrible liar.</p><p>“Why--” Chloé hisses, then she stops. Thinks about it. Then gasps dramatically. “Oh my god, did you just want to <em> hang out?” </em></p><p>Adrien nearly jumps over the coffee table to silence her. However, months of dodging akuma attacks and ‘errant’ yo-yo swings as Chat Noire has made Chloé quite agile. She rolls to the side easily and arches an eyebrow at him, managing to look menacing in spite of her upside-down state.</p><p>
  <em> Well? </em>
</p><p>Adrien looks off to the side guiltily. </p><p>“Well--yeah, that’s true,” he confesses. “I wanted to spend time with a friend outside of school or work… but you saw how my Father is. He hates Nino. He barely even let <em> you </em>inside the house, and that’s only because it’s for a test.”</p><p>Icy blue eyes soften. </p><p>Chloé still feels irritated that she was used and lied to, but if that deception led to some alone time with her best--okay, <em> only-- </em>childhood friend and current crush, she can’t be too mad. She’d have done the same thing herself in his shoes.</p><p>“I’m sorry for lying, Chloé. I didn’t want you to know I was breaking the rules, technically. Plausible deniability and all that. If you want to leave,” Adrien says sadly, “I don’t blame you.”</p><p>A pregnant pause hangs in the air before Chloé snorts.</p><p>“Stop being ridiculous, Adrikins. Breaking things is my <em> specialty. </em>” She spins Plagg’s ring on her finger absentmindedly. “If you wanted me to play that lame UMS game you’ve strategically placed under the table, all you have to ask.”</p><p>Adrien <em> beams. </em></p><p>-x-</p><p>“Why don’t you just sneak out?” Chloé suggests casually on their fourth ‘study session.’</p><p>Adrien--halfway through the Dupain-Cheng chocolate croissant Chloé snuck in--looks absolutely <em> scandalized. </em></p><p>“S-sneak out? I--” The poor guy doesn’t look like he can even think about it, much less talk about the concept. He swallows nervously. “I-I don’t think I’d be able to break the rules like that.” HIs shoulders slump. “Not like there’s any way for me to leave anyways. Dad keeps the Gorilla parked in the foyer.”</p><p>His tone becomes a little melancholy near the end. <em> Resigned. </em> Chloé frowns, realizing acutely that not everyone has a little god of destruction watching over them, ready to grant powers that could take the person anywhere at a moment’s notice. Not everyone has an unguarded balcony they can just jump off of, or family-- <em> staff in their cases, actually, but whatever-- </em>that let them roam out wherever they want, whenever they want.</p><p>Adrien Agreste may not be homeschooled anymore, but he certainly is not <em> free. </em></p><p>As if sensing her thoughts, the blond boy flashes Chloé a bright smile--but it’s too bright, too happy.</p><p>“It’s all right though, really. I still get to have you over--” <em> on a flimsy excuse for a pathetically short period of time </em>“--and I see everyone else at school. That’s more than I’ve ever had!”</p><p><em> God, you’re so depressing, Adrikins, </em>Chloé wants to say. She doesn’t.</p><p>Somehow, his reassurance makes the whole thing even sadder. Adrien, who by all accounts should be the most miserable person in the room, is trying to cheer <em> Chloé </em>up.</p><p>“Actually, I’m a little hungry. Could you ask Nathalie if she has any…” <em> Camembert cheese </em> is  what she wants to say, but that would look suspicious as hell coming from the weight-watching fashionista. “...cookies?” Chloé settles. Cookies are a <em> bit </em>better, and it’s not like she’d actually eat them.</p><p>
  <em> ...and maybe that bug will appreciate them later on patrol. </em>
</p><p>Adrien smiles, and it’s gentler this time. Genuine. “Sure, Chloé. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>“Thanks, Adrikins.”</p><p>As soon as the other blond leaves the room, Plagg peeks over the clasp of her bag.</p><p>“Poor kid,” the kwami mutters, ears drooping sadly. “His old man is a real piece of work.”</p><p>“Tell me about it,” Chloé agrees. “I wish I could do more for him. You remember how his birthday party turned out? I didn’t understand why he was so excited about an <em> akuma </em>before, but…”</p><p>Adrien had been <em> so </em>happy even when Paris was under fire because that was probably his only taste of freedom in years. And even that was tainted by Hawkmoth’s influence.</p><p>The wielder and her kwami look around remorsefully at the lonely boy’s room.</p><p>There wasn’t anything they could do for Adrien beyond what they’re doing now. For the time being, it would have to be enough.</p><p>-x-</p><p>That early evening finds Luka Couffaine and Chloé Bourgeois on the same secluded rooftop. </p><p>By now, Chloé’s taken to calling it <em> their </em> spot in her head. It’s a little cozy now, too. They’ve already gotten a small basket tucked into the corner of the chimney and a nearby wall that carried the essentials--two blankets, a few electric lights, and some snacks for their respective kwamis. Right now, she’s lying sprawled out on a soft yarn blanket that has way too many colors incorporated into the random design to be hers.</p><p>Sitting on a simple, but elegantly-designed gold and white blanket, Luka gives her a pointed look as she stretches out, catlike.</p><p>“You’re late.” </p><p>He sounds as calm as ever as he writes in a notebook--homework or his music, Chloé doesn’t care too much to check. She does pop open an eye at him though for obligatory glaring purposes. Then she goes back to her careful back-popping. Adrien’s couches really were too stiff, like they’d never been broken in. </p><p>Knowing his home situation, that’s most likely the case.</p><p>“Didn’t know--” <em> pop! </em> “--we had--” <em> pop! “ </em> --a schedule for the volunta--” <em> Crack! </em>Chloé stiffens, then exhales, boneless and relaxed. “--ry patrol. Besides, I don’t see you transformed and ready to crack down on the scary jaywalkers and litterers.”</p><p>Luka’s teal eyes briefly flit to her over the edge of his notebook. Then, after a short pause, he goes back to the pages, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue as his pen moves in a repetitive up and down motion that couldn’t be any sort of romanized letter. </p><p>Musical notes, then.</p><p>
  <em> Another song, huh... </em>
</p><p>“All the same, I’d rather you were here at a regular time. The people of Paris would feel much safer if they see us on a set schedule everyday.”</p><p>“That sounds familiar. Been reading the Ladyblog recently?”</p><p>“...perhaps.”</p><p>“You <em> do </em>know Césaire wrote that into her article because she wants to follow us around better, right?”</p><p>“...”</p><p>“Oh my god, you <em> didn’t. </em>She was literally complaining in my class that she was losing sleep following us around for our akuma fights--as if we could schedule them! God, you’re so depressing, bug.”</p><p>“...shut up.”</p><p>“Only if you do the same about the ‘schedule.’ Oh, and no patrol today, m’kay?”</p><p>Luka sighs. He doesn’t say anything as he mimics her pose of lying belly-down, but that silence is acquiescence enough. From his new position, Chloé can clearly see the sheet music he’s penning in between the lines.</p><p>When she was little, she’d picked up piano in an attempt to be more like Adrien. Of course, she’d dropped it after a few lessons--a combination of Adrien slowly being phased out of her life and her parents not caring enough to push her into it--but those few lessons are enough for her to decipher some of the notes Luka’s penned.</p><p>It’s a heart song, but it’s not complete, as it ends abruptly and the bottom half of the page is completely blank. </p><p>It’s also not hers.</p><p>Luka notices her interest and draws the notebook closer to him, his elbow coming up to obscure her line of sight. “So why were you late? Tutoring again?” he asks.</p><p>“Yeah, my friend is still struggling a bit, but… he’s getting the hang of it.” ‘It’ meaning basic social skills during a friendly hangout. </p><p>Pause.</p><p>“It’s a guy?” Luka sounds almost annoyed.</p><p>Chloé tuts at him. Such disrespect. “Not just any guy,” she corrects him. Her eyes take on a dreamy look as she continues, “His name is Adrien Agreste, and he’s the kindest, most handsome, smartest--”</p><p>“What, is he your boyfriend?” Yep. Definitely annoyed.</p><p>“No--” and suddenly, Luka looks so smug that she wants to reach over to wipe that expression off his face so she <em> does </em>“--but in the future, I hope so. I’m just tutoring him for now.”</p><p>Luka smacks aside her hand, but doesn’t let go, instead curling his fingers lightly around her wrist. “I feel bad for this Adrien,” he hums, “having to deal with you shedding all over him.”</p><p>“You’re just jealous--”</p><p>“I’m <em> not-- </em>”</p><p>“--that I’m getting a head start while you haven’t even had a proper conversation with <em> your </em> crush.” Chloé grins, aware of the minute tightening of his fingers around her. “I’ve spent the past few days with him, <em> alone </em> , in his <em> bedroom </em> while you’re still here internally monologuing about the ‘melody in your heart’ without doing anything <em> about it.” </em></p><p>So maybe Chloé’s a <em> little </em> overly vicious when she throws those words at her partner. Maybe she’s a <em> tad </em>too vindictive when she confronts Luka’s inability to face his attraction. It doesn’t change how victorious she feels when Luka’s eyes darken, the carefully-composed calm cracking, by her, for her.</p><p>“Is that so, kitten?” Luka asks lowly, slowly, and dangerously.</p><p>“Yes, bug,” Chloé replies, sugar-sweet, toxic, and challenging.</p><p><em> Go on. Make a move. Ask her out, </em> her eyes say. <em> Have fun with the clumsy baker’s girl. </em></p><p><em> I will. And </em> you <em> can have as much </em> fun <em> as you want with Paris’s little golden boy, </em>his eyes respond.</p><p>In those few moments, the pair say so many things, both spoken and unspoken. They say everything. They say nothing. </p><p>All Chloé knows is that <em> after, </em>she’s watching Red Beetle chatting up a flustered, but pleased Marinette on her balcony.</p><p>There’s a calm, pleasant smile on his face as he makes up some benign excuse for speaking to her. He looks nothing like the starstruck puppy-in-love he was when he first met the half-Chinese girl. Instead Red Beetle looks… just like he does with everyone else.</p><p>Bland. Palatable. <em> Awful. </em></p><p>Chloé can’t help but feel like she’s missing something here, like she’s been hollowed out without a clue as to what exactly was there--is supposed to be there.</p><p>Then Luka flashes her a taunting grin as Marinette rushes downstairs--probably for some refreshments for the <em> neighborhood hero </em> or whatever, how <em> predictable-- </em>and the blonde is filled with a fiery hot determination. She cocks her hip. Shoots him her own smirk.</p><p>Watches his smile falter.</p><p>
  <em> Time to bring out the claws. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah, chapter is a little sad. Not saying Adrien's life sucks without the Miraculous, but... lowkey it does kind of suck.</p><p>ALSO THIS CHAPTER FORMATTING SUCKS. There's a weird interaction between italics and any kind of punctuation. I'll... just... leave it there for now, I guess. Sorry, lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. tenfold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter's coming out a bit long, so here's the first part of it. Wowie, we're getting out of the 'every chapter can count as a one-shot' territory!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the blink of an eye, Chloé and Luka’s relationship changes. What could have been described as “intermittently antagonistic, but normally tenuously cordial” quickly blows up into “full-blown hostility, never-put-these-two-in-the-same-room.” The moment the spotted hero stepped off their rooftop was the moment the bet, <em> their feud, </em>took hold.</p><p>The bet, if one did not look too closely, is simple: use your massive game to snare the blonde/bluenette of your choosing, preferably before the other.</p><p>However, if one <em> did </em>take about… a minute, maybe even two if they’re feeling adventurous, to really think about it, their bet--and this whole situation, really--makes zero sense.</p><p>What defines the ‘snaring’? First date? First kiss? First wedding?</p><p>What do they get out of this? Just bragging rights? </p><p>Why does Chloé suddenly want to crush that stupid boy’s face into dust every time he turns on the charm for Marinette? Is it pure annoyance? Or maybe something el--</p><p>Luckily, Chloé has excellent time management skills and chooses to not think about it. </p><p>Instead, she focuses on <em> winning. </em> If there’s one thing her daddy taught her aside from how money makes everything better, it’s that achieving victory over your opponent is a war, and one that you must crush.</p><p>You see, it’s not enough to succeed. Others must fail.</p><p>And she’s <em> determined </em>to do just that.</p><p>...too bad Luka is just as determined.</p><p>-x-</p><p>Luka created a mixtape for Marinette and burned it onto a CD. </p><p>When Luka isn’t looking, Chloé switches out his sickening, loving, Marinette-themed mixtape for something she felt more… suited his tastes.</p><p>(Luka's CD player starts blaring an obnoxiously bubbly pop song instead of one of the soft rock or indie songs Chloé knows Marinette listens to.</p><p>“And if I were gay, though I swear I’m straight, I’d make them fellas say--”</p><p>Luka hits skip.</p><p>“He likes boys! Finally now it’s all making sense--”</p><p>Another skip, with more force this time.</p><p>“It’s okay to be gay, let’s rejoice with the boys in the gay way!”</p><p>On and on this continues, down the list of blatantly homosexual tracks. The last few songs are even some of Chloé’s favorite Lady Gaga hits. To his credit, Luka sustains an aura of calmness, but the <em> absolute murder </em>he shoots Chloé’s way...</p><p>“Um, are you trying to tell me something, Luka?” Marinette smiles gently.)</p><p>Luka somehow finds out about Adrien’s allergies.</p><p>When Chloé brings a special, hand-ordered, limited-edition, <em> never-before-opened </em> UMS III figurine to school, the box’d been stuffed to the brim with pigeon feathers.</p><p><em> Real </em>pigeon feathers.</p><p>Like, <em> from the park.  </em></p><p>What an unsanitary savage.</p><p>(“Here you are! Since you love Ultimate Mecha Strike III so much...”</p><p>Adrien positively <em> glows </em>when Chloé hands him the gift-wrapped NAD03 Nendoroid.</p><p>“Oh wow, thanks Chloé! How’d you get one of these? They were sold out in seconds!”” the model enthuses, already eagerly unwrapping the package.</p><p>“Daddy knows some people,” she gloats. Then Chloé bats her eyes and adds, “Though I’d do anything for <em> you, </em>Adrikins.” She’s rewarded with a slight flush to his cheeks.</p><p>“Aw, Chloé you’re such a good f--wait, wha--<em> AH-CHOO!” </em></p><p>Feathers. Fly. Everywhere.</p><p>“Oh my god, Adrien, those weren’t supposed to be there, I swear!”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Adrien waves her off as he stumbles away. “I just need to… to--<em> AH-CHOO-- </em> leave for a bit, <em> oh geez...” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Adrikiiiiiiins, nooooo! Come baaaaaaack!”) </em>
</p><p>In swift retaliation, Chat Noire crashes Red Beetle’s next balcony visit that same day.</p><p>(“Thanks for having me over, Dupain-Cheng,” the cat-themed heroine says sweetly.</p><p>Marinette waves her hands dismissively. “It’s no problem. Red Beetle comes over all the time,” she replies, bending over a bit to set down the tray of baked goods.</p><p>Chat Noire glances at her partner, who’s currently glaring at her for blocking his--<em> ahem-- </em>view of a certain baker’s daughter’s derrière. He kicks her under the table. She winces , but quickly hides it behind a mouthful of croissant, making a mental note to skip dinner later to compensate for the calories.</p><p>“So the bug’s a regular here? You guys talk about anything fun?” the blonde asks.</p><p>“Well, uh, Red Beetle has, ah, some interesting music tastes…”</p><p>“Oh, <em> I bet.” </em></p><p>The spotted hero kicks her again, <em> harder </em>this time. This time, Chat Noire isn’t able to hold in her yelp. Or her glare. Or her sudden chokehold on the other boy.</p><p>“You’re such a brat, just <em> leave--” </em>Red Beetle gasps, just low enough for her to hear.</p><p>She bares her teeth animalistically. “You wanna say that again, Fall Out Boy reje--”</p><p>“...do you two want some alone time?” Marinette cuts in, grinning amusedly. Both heroes freeze as she points back down the hatch. “Because I can go grab some more snac--”</p><p>“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”</p><p>“NOT <em> ONE </em>MOVE, DUPAIN-CHENG!”</p><p>“Ah. Two more chocolate croissants, gotcha.”)</p><p>So, during a downpour, Luka purposefully crashes--literally--his bike into Chloé as she and Adrien walk to the limo after school. The two of them fall spectacularly into a large, murky puddle in a tangle of limbs.</p><p>(Amused teal eyes sparkle innocently up into furious icy ones. Yes, <em> up. </em> Because the fall had ended up with Luka flat on the ground and Chloé practically sprawled on top of him. At least he’d broken her fall.</p><p>“Oh my gosh, I’m <em> so </em> sorry!” Luka simpers, his sincere-sounding voice clashing with the shit-eating glimmer in his eyes.</p><p>Chloé’s clothes are now completely soaked through. There is no way she can ‘tutor’ Adrien like this.</p><p>“Are you guys all right?” Adrien asks, all concerned like the sweet, angelic boy he is.</p><p>“Not. A. Problem,” she grits out, well aware of their audience as she shoved herself up. She flashes a smile at Adrien. “I’m just fine, but I’ll need a change. Let’s stop by the hotel?” </p><p>To Luka: “Get up. You look ridiculous.”</p><p>But Luka doesn’t move. Instead, he winces and grabs the back of his head. “Might have… overdone it… with the landing,” he groans.</p><p>“Idiot.” But she helps him up gently anyways.</p><p>“Hey, would you like a ride home? You might have a concussion, and it’s really my fault,” Adrien offers sheepishly.</p><p>Luka rubs his neck and nods slowly. Silent and docile from his concussion, he looks almost sweet… but Chloé knows better, especially when he has the <em> audacity </em>to wink at her the moment Adrien’s back is turned. He was just fine after all!</p><p>
  <em> The son of a bitch is taking advantage of poor, sweet Adrien’s hospitality!-- </em>
</p><p>“Sweet! Hey Gorilla, would it be okay if we dropped Chloé’s boyfriend off before heading home?”</p><p>“<em> B-B-BOYF--?!” </em></p><p>
  <em> “WE’RE NOT DATING!” </em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry--it’s just that you helped him up without complaining and I just assumed!--”<em> ) </em></p><p>The kwamis are even involved at one point.</p><p>“Look hellcat, all I’m saying is that <em> maybe </em> the two of you can tone it down a bit? I mean--” Plagg flies in front of her with the <em> biggest </em>eyes she’s ever seen him give her “--you’re Red Beetle and Chat Noire! Creation and destruction! Two halves of the same whole! Maybe you both should get along? A little?”</p><p>The blonde’s lips quirk innocuously at the kwami.</p><p>“I guess… but aren’t creation and destruction opposites?” she questions. “Wouldn’t there be some... natural tension?”</p><p>Plagg looks at her, confused. “No? The wielders usually work together grea--” He then crosses his arms, the realization dawning upon him. “Sugar cube and I get along <em> just </em>fine, Chloé.”</p><p>“Really? No differences in handling Miraculous owners?”</p><p>“Well, I mean…” Plagg hesitates. “Sometimes she has this <em> voice </em> she uses on me when she thinks I’m ‘messing up’ all of the ‘unspoken kwami holder dynamics.’”</p><p>Chloé nods understandingly. Resting her chin in her hands, she leans forward, pressing on. “But you’re the best kwami ever! You’re so helpful, informative, and kind! Why would she ever use that voice on you?” </p><p>Plagg’s arms loosen. A bit more of his centuries-old, pent-up frustration spilled out. “Probably because she’ll never admit it, but Tikki always thinks that she can do a ‘better job’ than me because I’m--and I quote--a ‘lazy and bad kwami.’”</p><p>She lets out a dramatic gasp, raising a hand up to her mouth.</p><p>“<em> No, </em>really?”</p><p>“Yes, really!” Plagg whines. “Whenever I make a mistake, do you know how long that overgrown bug holds it over my head? For-ev-er! Why, just the other day when you and Luka were busy with your Modern Mating Ritual V2™, she brought up the Black Death, and let me tell you…”</p><p>
  <em> Too easy. </em>
</p><p>As Plagg launches into a full-blown rant of his grievances with the kwami of creation--ranging from, but not limited to, the rupturing of Pangea, the coming of the Ice Age, the drowning of Atlantis, and most recently The Last Airbender live action movie--Chloé reclines back on the chaise lounge. Her work here was done.</p><p>Of course, the results are nothing short of cataclysmic.</p><p>(“P-Plagg?! What are you doing with that banana?!”</p><p>“<em> This </em> is for not letting go of the ‘Rotten Egg’ incident!”</p><p>“WHAT?!”</p><p>“YOU HEARD ME!”</p><p>“THEY ACCIDENTALLY CRUSHED YOUR STINKY EGGS SO YOU THREW AN ASTEROID AT THEM! HOW DOES THAT MAKE SENSE?!” </p><p>“THEY DID IT ON PURPOSE!”</p><p>
  <em> “NO. NO THEY DID NOT.” </em>
</p><p><em> “THE DINOSAURS WERE LIARS AND YOU KNOW IT!” </em>)</p><p>That altercation produces two mentally scarred teens--Luka and Chloé will <em> never </em> look at a banana without cringing ever again--a steaming yo-yo, and an unspoken agreement to <em> never again </em> pit the two tiny gods against each other. </p><p>In spite of the multiple near-death experiences though, the war still continues because both teenagers are stubborn fools who would rather fight ten, twenty, a <em> hundred </em> akumas in a row than let their-- <em> stupid, ridiculous, awful-- </em>partner get the last laugh.</p><p>Oh, they still defeat and cleanse the akumas. That’s their job, after all. But anytime they’re not?</p><p>
  <em> Fair fucking game, bitch. </em>
</p><p>Plagg had laughed at her when she told him that, but Chloe was prepared to see this through. Adrien would be <em> hers, </em>and before Luka had the guts to ask Marinette out--not that she could believe anyone falling for his boyishly handsome looks and undeniable musical talent and wit.</p><p>However, neither of them were prepared for their two-sided war to have a third player.</p><p>-x-</p><p>“Chloé!” Sabrina shrills into her ear first thing in the morning.</p><p>The blonde mutters curses under her breath and rubs her temples. Last night was <em> rough. </em>Hawkmoth had decided Christmas had come early and gifted them with some kid’s gift-themed akuma. Additionally, she couldn’t sleep, as she spent a few hours tossing and turning in her bed and being paranoid over whatever form of sabotage Luka had cooked up for today.</p><p>
  <em> Stupid bug. </em>
</p><p>Ironically, that same person is the reason why she isn’t able to wake up this morning. Ever since their feud started, they’d avoided each other in the mornings, which meant no free, delicious breakfasts and no shared coffees.</p><p>It also meant more Sabrina.</p><p>“<em> Chloéeeeee,” </em> the ginger whines again.</p><p>“What is it?” she snaps, half-regretting her harsh tone when her sort-of friend cringes. Sabrina is quick to bounce back though. She shoves her phone underneath the blonde’s nose and hits play.</p><p>“New transfer student in our class.” Sabrina clears her throat. “And I know you wanted me to keep you posted on anything about Chat Noire…”</p><p>It’s a video of some twin-tailed, brunette girl that Chloé’s never before seen in her life. </p><p>The girl is wearing an admittedly cute sunset-orange ensemble that really brings out her tanned skin tone and olive green eyes, but there’s <em> something </em>about her expression that Chloé just instantly despises--and not in the same way she despises Luka’s bland politeness. No, this girl’s expression… that self-assured smugness, know-it-all narrowed eyes, and general air of superiority? Call it toxic feminism, but Chloé instantly hates her.</p><p>The girl reminds her of herself.</p><p>“Oh yeah, Red Beetle and me? We’re like <em> this, </em>” the brunette in the video declares, bringing up her crossed fingers in a clear implication. Chloé’s eyes narrow at the sight. She grips the phone a little tighter.</p><p>On cue, Alya Césaire gasps in the video. “Really? Aren’t you worried Hawkmoth will find out?”</p><p>“He worries a lot, but our relationship is worth it and I know he can take care of the both of us. Besides, despite how I look, I’m pretty capable.” The girl flashes a charming smile as she jokingly flexes her nonexistent muscles. Alya laughs, and the brunette waits until she stops. The next few words she says makes Chloé’s blood <em> boil </em> and makes up her mind that yep. She <em> definitely </em>hates this new girl.</p><p>“Though to be honest, I think my biggest fear would have to be Chat Noire.”</p><p>“What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“Well, it’s no secret she and Red Beetle have a love-hate relationship.” Alya nods as the other girl lowers her voice conspiratorially, as if the mic wouldn’t just pick her voice up anyways. “But lately, I’ve been seeing more of that love directed towards him and that hate towards…”</p><p>The amateur reporter gasps again.</p><p>“No, really? She--she’s threatened you?”</p><p>The brunette nods meekly. “You know she’s capable of it. That’s all I feel comfortable sharing, anyways, if that’s alright with you.”</p><p>“No, no, it’s totally fine. You’re so brave for speaking up, Lila.”</p><p>Chloé shuts off the phone, not wanting to see or hear any more. She knew that if she kept watching, she wouldn’t be able to hold herself back from seeing if Cataclysm could work on a person. So, instead, she just stands there, holding the phone in a furiously trembling grip.</p><p>
  <em> Lila. </em>
</p><p>She looks down into her side purse, meeting the gaze of an equally-incensed kwami. Wordlessly, Plagg holds up her phone, which currently displays one message notification from Luka.</p><p><b>[bug]:</b> Don’t do anything rash, kitten. Wait for me.</p><p>This Lila girl is bad news. Not only is she actively ruining Luka’s chances by linking herself with him, but she’s tarnishing Chloé’s alter ego’s reputation. Chloe can’t even care that she’d win the bit at this point. Anyone who wants to mess with her? With <em> Plagg? </em></p><p>Chat Noire will return the damage <em> tenfold </em>.</p><p>Their feud with the Red Beetle duo would have to take a back seat.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry if I come off as homophobic with that first scenario--it's not my intention, and I just mean it as a fun joke to make Marinette think he's not interested in that way.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. me, warning you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi again! and hello new people to the weird story. sorry for the longer wait, the chapter just got a bit long so i had to split it into half, haha.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lila Rossi personally has it out for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Chloé thinks she’s imagining things. She can understand Lila having some personal vendetta against Chat Noire. Her alter ego is the kind of unrepentant bitch everyone loves to hate--much like her real life persona, but at least people are a little more discreet when they badmouth Chat, partly due to her heroic deeds. Lila having a vendetta against Chat makes </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the coincidences pile up one after the other until Chloé can’t ignore them anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, Lila had jacked Sabrina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, Chloé wasn’t particularly close to the ginger-haired girl. She’d only kept Sabrina around because she was useful and as clingy as algae. A part of her had even always anticipated some sort of betrayal, but for Sabrina to leave her for--for some Italian witch that compliments her hair and calls her </span>
  <em>
    <span>amica </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the hallway before class started</span>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Please.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Second, Lila had jacked her seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All it took was one paper-thin excuse about poor vision to send Chloé from the seat right behind Adrien to the seat </span>
  <em>
    <span>four rows </span>
  </em>
  <span>behind. And the worst part was that she couldn’t even protest it. None of her classmates were willing to offer up their own spot, Adrien was shushed down immediately by Nino when he tried, and Miss Bustier was adamant Chloé do a ‘good deed’ every once in a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If only she knew.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Third, Lila is trying to jack Adrien, and by extension, her position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Years of watching her daddy guard his back in politics means Chloé knows when her position is being encroached upon--that position being a good friend and prospective romantic interest, never mind that she hasn’t actually made any sincere attempts to win the other blond over in </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila chose </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> seat. Not Dupain-Cheng’s, which is to Adrien’s right and just over the aisle. Not Lahiffe’s, which is literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>right next to him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She chose Chloé’s seat, directly behind Adrien’s. That, coupled with how she regaled the model with tales of her travels all over the globe between subjects, really sealed the deal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé ground her teeth the entire class period. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Riiiiiing!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As the class filters out for the lunch break, Chloé slams her notebook shut and shoves it into her bag. Plagg lets out a low hiss, but one glare from the blonde is enough to shut him up. He frowns at her, but obediently slinks back into the dark recesses of her purse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forget Luka and waiting. He’s just as angry too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She catches the brunette with a hand on her elbow before she and Sabrina can leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Rossi! Can I talk with you for a minute?” It’s not a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila stops walking. She glances down at Chloé’s nails, still painted black and yellow, but they’re chipped and imperfect now. Her eyes roam over to her cardigan’s sleeves, taking in the fraying edges from where Plagg had gnawed at out of boredom. They settle on Chloé’s eyes, then just below them, on the grey eyebags her hastily-applied makeup fails to conceal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re just </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but standing in front of her supposed best friend and the new girl, Chloé feels inadequate. She takes her hand back, hides it in an unconscious display of weakness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila’s lips quirk slyly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing--Chloé, right?” she says sweetly. She turns behind her. “Could you please go ahead and save me a seat, Bri? I’ll tell you and the others </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the time Prince Ali and I went shopping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sabrina </span>
  </em>
  <span>can stay if sh--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, Lila!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé gives the ginger a murderous look, which Sabrina cheerfully ignores as she leaves. The blonde strides over and locks the door behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… did you want to talk about something?” Lila asks, her wide jade eyes the picture of innocence. She raises her hands up in surrender. “If this is about me taking your seat, I’m really sorry. Maybe I can talk with Miss Bustier--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. “This isn’t about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>seat,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she growls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about Sabrina? Adrien? And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’ve never been to Achu, saved kittens with Jagged Stone, or whatever bullshit you’ve been spouting</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if anything, the pigtailed girl doubles down on her story. “Please, I just want to get along with everyone. I’ve never lied!” she insists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t lie to me, Rossi. It’s just you and me here, and I’m not like the rest of them.” Chloé pauses, noticing how the other girl’s eyes flit to the door for the briefest of moments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat passes. Then the atmosphere shifts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lila </span>
  </em>
  <span>shifts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s such a small, subtle change, but she looks like a completely different person when she cocks her hip, redistributing more of her weight to one leg. She tilts her chin up at Chloé, a small smirk playing at her lips as she rests a hand on her cocked hip. Her eyes lose that doe-eyed look, becoming as predatory as a fox.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There you are, bitch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Unconsciously, Chloé mirrors her pose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette girl exhales a huff of laughter. “You aren’t, aren’t you? I was right to single you out. You’re the girl who has everything without having to work for any of it,” she agrees. Lila trails a finger down Adrien’s desk, making her way slowly towards the blonde. “An admiring friend, classmates who will do anything you ask, a gorgeous, well-connected boyfriend...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That finger stops inches from Chloé’s hip. Lila is so close now, close enough that Chloé can smell her imitation perfume--sweet-smelling, maybe even expensive, but it’d never be exactly like the authentic edition the blonde had on her vanity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wants to break that finger. Break </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re jealous. Big deal, everyone is in this school,” she sneers at the brunette, mustering up every bit of derision, rage, and superiority she can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila hums. “I would, but--you don’t have any of those things anymore, hm? Your grip on them was weak.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They </span>
  </em>
  <span>are not </span>
  <em>
    <span>things.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may be the queen bee around here, but only because everyone else is too scared like that Rose girl, too new like that Alya, or hates themselves too much like that Marinette. Or was her name Juleka? Especially her. Poor girl.” Lila ‘tsks’ in false sympathy. “Anyways, I know you wanted to ‘warn’ me, but this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>warning </span>
  <em>
    <span>you…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gets up close. Chloé stands her ground, glaring hotly at the “maybe menace” in front of her that just transformed into an “absolute threat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila punctuates the next few words with a few pointed jabs to the blonde’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay out… of my way… or there will be consequences.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those are familiar words. Chloé’s used them, once upon a time in a dark alleyway on a boy that admittedly has brought more good into her life than bad. This time though, those words feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>different coming out of that silver-tongued mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pigtailed girl smirks, certain her message got through. She picks up her backpack, steps nimbly around Chloé, and is about to exit the classroom when the blonde finally responds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Chloé whirls around, fire in her eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> listen, Lila. I don’t know who the hell you were in your previous school, but this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>territory. I’m going to expose you for every single lie you’ve told.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if she couldn’t… well, Chloé </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a very powerful father. She hasn’t tried expelling anyone yet, but there’s always a first for everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila just laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And when that day comes, who do you think they’ll believe, hm? Remember what I said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obviously, she doesn’t give Lila’s warning any weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few hours later finds Chloé stalking the new girl after school. Right now, they’re both in the library along with a couple other students. Lila hasn’t noticed her yet--probably Plagg’s doing, since she’s not particularly stealthy outside of the suit. Chloé suspects the little god has a few tricks up his sleeve he hasn’t told her yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Probably something to do with those kwami-holder dynamics he was ranting about last week… that, or the drama king wants to bargain for more cheese</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks fondly, her mind easing up a bit from the intense, non-stop hate track.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air behind her shifts. A few golden strands of her hair sway forward, bringing with them the scent of flowers and river and musk. Luka settles into a crouch beside her. After a quick look around to make sure no one could actually see them creeping behind the book cart, he tiredly shrugs off his bookbag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Took you long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had to shake off a couple of my buddies,” he responds, yawning a little. “I’m surprised your secretary isn’t here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We agreed no one else could see us, right?” Chloé pauses. In a blasé tone, she continues, “Besides, she quit on me for Lila. No two-week notice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Shockingly, Luka actually does sound sincere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That sincerity is unpleasant, and more importantly, uncalled for. Chloé turns her nose up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be. We weren’t close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re not close with anyone, aren’t you?” the boy mumbles under his breath. He clearly doesn’t intend to be heard, so Chloé pretends she doesn’t hear the words and hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...hypocrite.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They watch as Lila finally approaches Adrien with a light touch to his bicep. He startles, but relaxes when he sees who it is. Chloé clenches her fists so hard her nails form little crescents in her palms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>much easier if we could suit up,” she murmurs. “Scare her a little into not spreading rumors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes, the classic strategy of stopping false rumors by making them true,” Luka mockingly concurs. “Really perpetuating a stereotype here, aren’t you, princess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well at least it’s better than sitting here, doing nothing while she lays her smarmy hands all over Adrien!“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonder boy</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinks you’re still single</span>
  <em>
    <span>.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if you would’ve ever graduated from </span>
  <em>
    <span>tea time </span>
  </em>
  <span>to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lunch date.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No thanks to y--oh my god.” Luka uncharacteristically stiffens. “There’s--she’s--I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé follows his line of vision to the subject of the conversation. She rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could have said it was your stalker crush, but whatever…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, Marinette is in the library, walking a bit suspiciously--slowly, quietly, but jerkily, as if she’s terrified people will see her. She’s texting furiously with someone, her fingers flying at impossible speeds as she throws furtive glances at Adrien and Lila’s direction. Fortunately, she’s too engrossed in her conversation to notice that she’s veered dangerously close to their hiding position at the cart. A few more steps and she’d have her back to the odd pair, never knowing they were even there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, the worst happens. Because of course it does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marinette trips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s automatic, the way the two teenagers react. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the petite girl could hit the ground, Luka’s steady arms wrap around her frame and pull her to his chest. Before she could yelp in surprise, Chloé lunges forward and clamps a firm hand over her mouth. Before her phone could clatter against the floor, Luka snatches it out of the air while Chloé hastily texts Alya a casual ‘oMGGG, i c Adrien!!!!’ text. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marinette Dupain-Cheng disappears behind the book trolley without a trace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you invite her?” Chloé hisses up at her partner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he snarls back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not! Why--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmf? Mm mmm. Mm!” Marinette muffles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair look at her in surprise, somehow having forgotten their spur-of-the-moment kidnapping victim in their thousandth heated argument of the week. They exchange glances. After swapping some pointed eye-widening (mostly from Luka to Chloé as she nonchalantly </span>
  <em>
    <span>keeps texting</span>
  </em>
  <span> Alya Césaire progressively more embarrassing comments about Adrien’s ‘hot looks at the books’), passive-aggressive eye-narrowing (both teenagers having their fair share of this), and some wiggling eyebrows (mostly from Chloé to Marinette and Luka’s rather compromising position), Luka sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let her go, ki—loé.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé lets her go immediately, making sure to put some distance between herself and Luka too. It’s not like she craves tender, physical contact with or affectionate warmth from any of those two losers anyways. Nope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well! That was--um, </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Marinette says in a weirdly-pitched voice and an equally weird smile. “Hi Luka. And… Chloé.” Her name comes out like more of a question than anything. “Wh-what are you guys doing back here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just looking for a book. Thought it might be on this cart.” Luka smiles at her genially, like his trademark palatable air is enough to distract from the fact that the cart is empty. And that he’s blushing. “And yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah, me too,” Marinette stammers out while Chloé mimes gagging in the background. The dark-haired girl then turns to the blonde, who straightens. “Um… you three, Chloé?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé gives her an unimpressed look. “I‘m following Lila Rossi so I can stop her before she tries anything with Adrien. Just like you,” Chloé deadpans truthfully. “And him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marinette sweat-drops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka facepalms. “Chloé, that’s not--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You always tell me ‘honesty is the best policy and a mark of a good h—person.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not</span>
  </em>
  <span> for situations like this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>excuse </span>
  </em>
  <span>me for trying to better my moral compass!“</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Your moral compass is a roulette wheel!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, guys?” Marinette cuts in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two bickering teens stop arguing to turn to where she’s pointing. Sure enough, the new girl and the model are moving away from their spot, presumably to find a table together since they’re not leaving the library or each others’ side. The last the trio see of them is Adrien laughing at something Lila’s said as they round the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé, Marinette, and Luka all share a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As one, cohesive unit, all three place their hands on the book trolley, shuffling it to follow the duo with Chloé in the lead, Marinette right behind, and Luka bringing up the rear.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. the point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>zzz</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Luckily--or unluckily, because Chloé isn’t sure if their going unnoticed is Tikki’s inherent good luck aura at work or Plagg’s general sneakiness in the shadows--no one pays mind to the mysterious, self-moving book cart trailing after two students. Her side purse is empty though. In her periphery, the blonde thinks she sees flashes of red and black, so perhaps it’s a mixture of both kwami’s influences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>one close call though, where Max Kanté almost discovers them as he comes out of the periodicals sections. He stands there, curious. “Wait, wasn’t that cart over there?” he mumbles to himself. The boy takes a few steps forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Shit, shit, shitshitshit--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka and Chloé both freeze in panic when he comes close, as if he were some kind of T-rex and if they state still, he wouldn’t see them. Marinette, however, does the opposite. The half-Chinese girl quickly whips out her cell phone and texts the boy, just barely firing it off before he could peer around the cart. The gamer’s phone goes off a few tables away and he rushes towards it without a second thought. All three let out a collective sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Luka breathes. “Nice one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh, th-thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Kanté is out of earshot, Chloé reaches behind her and flicks that annoying, admiring, </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovestruck</span>
  </em>
  <span> expression off of Luka’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka yelps and glares at her. He will remember this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Good thinking, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé tells her smugly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” The other girl looks surprised for a second. “Er, thanks? We’re pretty lucky that Max has been waiting to hear from me to schedule some practice matches,” Marinette comments, pushing the cart a little. Between her interrupting words and the urgent motion, the other two teenagers easily put their bickering behind them and follow her lead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? What do you play?” Luka asks eagerly. He’s desperately looking for common ground at this point, and Chloé rolls her eyes to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! UMS III. I’ve been trying to get Adrien to join Max and me for those matches. He’s amazing at it too…” Marinette trails off wistfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. That’s nice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s the end of the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teal-haired boy looks crestfallen, but Chloé figures it’s probably for the best. A relationship between a PC gamer and a console gamer? It could never work, and he is just setting himself up for heartbreak.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anyways, back to focusing on Adrikins! </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thinks happily, butterflies in her stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They end up even closer to Adrien and Lila than they were before, the trolley rolling to a silent stop just a few feet behind the two students. Once their base of operations is established, Chloé and Marinette get to work, with the former setting up her phone on the middle rack of the cart to record Adrien and Lila under the table, and the latter propping her phone on the top rack to get a better view of the space above. Both girls silently nod at each other--a promise to later share whatever incriminating footage they manage to get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka watches them bemusedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, watching the two students is a snoozefest. For all her scheming ways, Lila seems to genuinely want to study with Adrien. They pore over the history books and discuss the lesson from this morning--some lecture about some obscure part of French history that Chloé was too incensed to properly pay attention to. It seems that living in Italy and globe-hopping with her diplomat parents didn’t do any favors for the twin-tailed brunette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually though, the topic finally steers away from academics as Lila finishes up her assignment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a fan of superheroes?” Lila is saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrien’s eyes glow. “Isn’t everyone? I mean, we have Red Beetle and Chat Noire saving us every other day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like you have a favorite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrien’s answer almost makes this crappy day and the entire rest of the week worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot of people admire Red Beetle--and I think he’s pretty cool--but I like Chat Noire a little bit more. She does just as much as he does, but with a style that’s really fun to watch. I see a little bit of myself in her, or someone I’d like to be at least, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé’s heart melts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aw.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrien Agreste. A Chat Noire fan. And an innocent, sincere one at that, not just another horny teenage fanboy--though Chloé wouldn’t mind that, coming from him. Attention is attention, and affection is affection, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And--” Adrien flashes a grin “--she looks like she can beat me up if I say or do the wrong thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Awwwwwww! Adrikiiiiiiiins! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Marinette takes out a pen and pushes her cardigan sleeves up. She neatly writes ‘buy cat costume’ and ‘work out’ on her arm before pushing the sleeves back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé brings her hands up to her rapidly-warming cheeks. She could </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>happily now, even if she’d never lay a finger on the other blond. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What kind of weirdo physically abuses their crush? </span>
  </em>
  <span>To prove a point to herself, she reaches over to swat at Luka until he stops passive-aggressively rolling his eyes at her own infatuation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the answer I expected from someone like you--and I don’t mean that in a bad way!” Lila hurriedly adds, palms facing out. “It’s just that you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>nice and sweet, and Chat Noire’s… well, you might like that she’s comically violent, but for me, I don’t think it’s much of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>show</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Right.” Adrien rubs the back of his neck, looking apologetic. “I saw your interview on the Ladyblog. I’m sorry that she’s like that with you. I never really pegged her to be the type, being a hero and all. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe. She is a hero after all. She could just be protective.” Adrien’s nodding in relief, but he stops when Lila continues, “But I’m starting to think that French blondes just have it out for me. You know the one in our class?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait--what? Chloé? Did she do something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila sniffles a bit. “Y-yeah. She cornered me when everyone else left for lunch today. I tried to leave, but she trapped me in the classroom, locked the door, and basically told me to stop making friends or she’d ruin my life here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marinette goes stiff.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That bitch.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, that was true, but Lila conveniently left out the details of how she threatened Chloé right back, and how today is just the start of some grand, annoying scheme to ‘take her spot’ as the ‘queen bee.’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you really do that?’ Luka silently questions her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>think?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Chloé’s eyes respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips thin as he turns away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that sounds like something Chloé would do,” Adrien hesitantly agrees, voicing the words everyone is thinking. He’s a nonconfrontational little angel though, so he quickly adds, “But I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it! She’s just like that. Please don’t take it personally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… she’s always this rude and confrontational to everyone? Where I’m from, that’s called bullying. I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>scared, you know. I wasn’t expecting my first day after transferring to be so…” Lila trails off, sounding genuinely distressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing the truth doesn’t make seeing Adrien’s disappointment any better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The atmosphere around the book cart gets very awkward and </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>tense. Chloé can feel Luka’s and Marinette’s gazes on the side of her head. The blonde glares back. To their credit, they look away quickly, but there’s still this crushing weight that lingers. She resolutely ignores them afterwards and keeps her attention on Adrien. Just Adrien.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrien sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve known her since we were kids. Chloé’s not perfect,” he tells LIla, “and she doesn’t show affection the same way as most people, but she’s a good person underneath. Just had it a bit rough, despite what you see on the surface. Can you give her some time? I can talk to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila arches one eyebrow at him. “I don’t get it. Why are you defending her so much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...because she’s my friend.” But Adrien doesn’t sound too happy about it. He just sounds so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Resigned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’s time for you to make some new friends--friends that can </span>
  <em>
    <span>take</span>
  </em>
  <span> you places. Friends like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’d love to be friends, Lila, but if you’re talking about hanging out outside of school, you should know my father is a little strict. Even my best friend, Nino, isn’t allowed inside the house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna bet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do better. Wanna bet I can get your dad to let you out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila smoothly slips him a tiny note that could only be her number. If looks could kill, that paper would have spontaneously combusted from the combined glares of the three hiding teens. Sadly, it doesn’t. Adrien regards her thoughtfully, almost suspiciously, but pockets the note anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé doesn’t miss the faint longing in her friend’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That desire is not for Lila. It’s for </span>
  <em>
    <span>freedom</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Freedom even she couldn’t give him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My number. I’ll call you sometime this week before coming over and you’ll see I’m right,” Lila explains. The brunette grants him a self-assured smile as she slings on her shoulderbag. “Until then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>raggio di sole. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Thanks for the homework help.</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ciao, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lila.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ditch Marinette after Lila heads home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, well, Chloé ditches her without so much as a “later,” walking to the side of the school entrance and leaning against one of the pillars. Luka lingers behind her on the school steps. While the blonde crosses her arms and resolutely keeps her back to them, he and Marinette speak in hushed tones. They converse without Chloé for a few minutes--minutes that stretch on and on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, Chloé would leave by herself, but she knows the teal-haired boy well enough to know he’d just chase after her. She can already tell she’s going to get an earful for confronting Lila without him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...see you around.” Marinette waves goodbye at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, Marinette,” Luka calls out pleasantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé, glaring at the setting sun that was a bit </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>similar to an orange-red to Lila’s clothes, waves her hand in a half-dismissive motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that the other girl is gone, the atmosphere between the two superheroes grows unbelievably </span>
  <em>
    <span>tense.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell your little girlfriend about us?” she asks, her voice clipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One--not my girlfriend. Two--I told her enough to keep her from asking too much. We don’t exactly hang in the same social circles,” he replies smoothly. Luka strides past her, turns, and rests against the edge of half wall. From an outside perspective, the teal-haired boy looks calm and collected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not, obviously, but he’s angled himself in such a way that his colored bangs cover his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cover them from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, kitten,” Luka sighs. “We’ve followed her around for a few hours and I don’t really see the problem anymore. She just seems like a normal girl, aside from the made-up stories--and we all tell lies here and there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...” Chloé’s jaw drops. She can’t believe her ears. “Wait… you can’t be serious? You think we should just--just drop it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka rubs his temples. “Yes, I do,” he answers, voice clipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What--you don’t believe me?” Chloé snaps. “She </span>
  <em>
    <span>lied </span>
  </em>
  <span>to that Césaire girl about knowing our superhero identities. Why is it such a stretch to believe that she’s out to get me? I thought you would trust your </span>
  <em>
    <span>partner</span>
  </em>
  <span> over some wannabe random.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>believe you, it’s just that--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The guitarist almost throws his hands up in the air, but stops midway. He pauses, then takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I do believe you--Marinette confirmed parts of it--but I also think Lila’s just trying to fit in at her new school. Okay, okay, wait--” This time, Luka actually does hold up a hand to silence her. “Okay, say she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>‘out to get you personally.’ What do you want us to do about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, a language Chloé can speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde teenager throws him a self-assured smirk. “Easy. I’m going to get her expelled. If Lila wants to try that shit, she can do it at another school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...what.” Surprise and disbelief is evident in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be easy,” Chloé reassures him. “My daddy can help me with it, and Sabrina’s dad is the chief of police. I’ll win her back with a new handbag or something and it’ll be a piece of cake to set Lila up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s then that Luka actually meets her eyes for the first time since they’ve left the library. Chloé’s first instinct is to tense up, but she quickly tamps down that reaction. It’s just Luka, her partner. She’s seen that expression on his face way too many times to count. She’s caused a fair amount of them after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe… not to this extent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka is </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha--you can’t seriously be mad at </span>
  <em>
    <span>me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She stares at his face long and hard. “Oh my god, you are. Fine!” Chloé relents, “I don’t have to get her expelled if that’s what you want. I can just get the others on my side or something. Make her look bad, make them not talk to her, I don’t know, I’ll figure it out…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Social ostracization is new, and an admittedly tricky concept, but Chloé thinks she can pull it off if it’s more palatable for the bug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead, Luka keeps glaring at her, his blue eyes stormy on a face of calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again, not what I meant. You can’t just get someone expelled because your friends like her better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>threatened </span>
  <em>
    <span>me first!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she shouts indignantly, stamping her foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the point, Chloé!” Luka yells back--honest to god, he actually raises his voice at her. She almost takes a step back. “The </span>
  <em>
    <span>point </span>
  </em>
  <span>is that you told me you would wait for me and you didn’t because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>she was personally coming after you. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>point </span>
  </em>
  <span>is that you can’t just go after people like this whenever things don’t go your way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something’s wrong, and it’s not just because of Lila.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stare at each other in heated silence. Chloé is the first to turn away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sounding like that, bug,” she mumbles, “it’s like you’ve got some personal grudge. So.” She meets his eyes again, icy eyes hardening with chilling resolve. “Stop wasting my time and tell me what it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a few agonizingly long moments, but Luka eventually shakes his head. “My sister, Juleka,” he says slowly. “Do you remember her? Or did you not even realize we share the same last name because you can’t see anything past yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Unnecessary...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Chloé did notice. It’s hard not to when you made it a habit, a rule, to call your classmates by their surnames as if they were servants or strangers. It’s just that… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I realized that, but I never made the connection. The two of you don’t look anything alike,” she admits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that she has, though, she can see it. Not in the shape of their face, or their eyes, or anything like that, but in the fashion choices the siblings make for themselves. The black hair with cool-colored tips. The intricate nail art. The black high tops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About two years ago, you came to school upset. My sister tried to comfort you. In return, you lashed out at her,” the teal-haired boy states, bringing her back from her revelations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé recalls that afternoon. It was the Monday following Paris’s Fashion Week, and it was one of the</span>
  <em>
    <span> worst days of her life</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’d vented her frustrations that day by being particularly nasty towards the taller girl. Even now, Chloé feels the old emotions of spite, jealousy, and hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods slowly, her stomach churning. “I... remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Juleka never told me what you said to her,” Luka presses on, “but she didn’t need to. I watched her hurt for a long, </span>
  <em>
    <span>long </span>
  </em>
  <span>time. She’s never been kind to herself </span>
  <em>
    <span>but after you</span>
  </em>
  <span>--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he loses his composure again, shaking and trembling and glaring at her with so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span>… but it only lasts a second. One blink, and it’s gone, and he’s back to that carefully-composed front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why she grew her hair out and wore those gloves, you know. Because of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The hair that covers half of her face. The gloves that conceal any bit of flesh from knuckle to elbow. Chloé had always assumed they were a fashion choice, but Luka’s tone implies otherwise. She shifts uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When we first met, when you told me who you were… I wanted to hurt you for what you did to my sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is dead, blank, and devoid of that sarcastic brand of warmth that was characteristic to their partnership.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So? Why didn’t you?” Chloé asks imperiously. Her own tone is demanding. Defensive. It’s a shaky front, but it’s what she knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka gives her a tired look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I’ve always said—you showed up. Tikki told me from the start I shouldn’t hold onto grudges, and that you and I were chosen to be heroes for a reason. That despite first impressions, people can change and you and I are capable of </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He shrugs. “And for a while, I believed that. Juleka said you were even </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> these days. I even believed that we were… I don’t know, friends?” Chloé’s heart stops. “No, that’s not the word, but I think you get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scoffs. “You call what we have ‘friendship’?” she sneers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend nearly every second together at each other's' throats, either physically or verbally. When they’re not fighting each other, they’re fighting Hawkmoth’s latest akuma. Hell, they’d even spent the last few days throwing malicious pranks at each other out of spite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they’re not friends when they fight, they’re certainly not friends when they eat a private breakfast on weekday mornings, or when Luka tutors her every other night in chemistry and math, or when occasionally Chloé eggs him on to play on one of the hotel’s dusty guitars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka laughs. “Well, as close as you and I’ll get anyways, knowing us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I do—more than you’ll ever know. Partners, remember?” Luka replies with a half-smile that quickly turns rueful. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he turns away.  “Which is why even with the Miraculous, I know you and I aren’t going to change from the people we were before. No matter what Adrien or people like him say, this superhero thing? It’s just something you do for attention, and I can live with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I can’t live with though, is you. So go ahead and get Lila Rossi expelled if you want. Bully her out of school, the class, whatever, I don’t care how you do it. Just don’t talk to me ever again. We meet for akuma fights and akuma fights only.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fists clench, nails forming little crescents on the palms of her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if Chloé would </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to socialize with this fashion disaster outside of when it is absolutely necessary. She doesn’t care one bit what this loser does with his time, and she doesn’t care what he thinks about her or her proposed methods for dealing with Lila--</span>
  <em>
    <span>who he thinks is just some misguided new girl! Hah! </span>
  </em>
  <span>The fact that Luka would think she’d even notice his absence is...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s… it’s just--this is--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“--ridiculous. You’re absolutely ridiculous,” she declares. “You want me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>drop </span>
  </em>
  <span>a proven liar, all because of what I did years ago? Look, it sucks that happened to your sister, but this is different!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka bites the inside of his lip, looking torn between a scowl and a pitying smile. Chloé </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>both. Luckily--yes, luckily--she doesn’t have to see it for very long as he’s already pushed off the half-wall to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you still don’t apologize or even acknowledge what you did. This, and the fact that your so-called friends--sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend--</span>
  </em>
  <span>left you so quickly? Just proves my point.” Luka gives her a long look, as if committing her to memory. ”Bye, Chloé.” Then all she sees of him is his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Wait! I wasn’t done talking to you, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid bug--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But Luka never turns around. He just keeps walking down the steps, stops at the metal rack containing his lone bike, unchains it, and puts a helmet on. There’s no irritated retort, no teasing quip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just his back facing her as he bikes away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t chase after him. She’s Chloé Bourgeois--people chase after </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> to give her what she wants, not the other way around. And Luka? She doesn’t even know what she wants from that guy, whether it’s to punch him, or drag him back to make him see her point of view, or--she doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All Chloé knows is that she’s standing at the top of the stairs alone, with red half moons in her skin from trying to hold onto people that never want to stay.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>wheeeeeee angst time.<br/>the last scene was hard to write. i feel like i can just go on, and on, and on sometimes with that sort of thing, haha... ha...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. jeopardy?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*emerges from the shrubbery*<br/>i am back and with a plotline my therapist helped me develop :))))))))))))))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She doesn’t know how long she stands there.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Don’t talk to me ever again.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Seconds? Minutes? It feels like an eternity.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Just proves my point.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s ridiculous. She hasn’t felt like this since--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Bye, Chloé.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time she regains her senses, the streets are practically empty, and the bike rack glaringly so. Chloé stares hard at the concrete near her feet. Thankfully, she’s not blinking back tears like some child--how </span>
  <em>
    <span>gauche</span>
  </em>
  <span>--but there are pinpricks of itching fire at the back of her eyes and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>close enough.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Plagg flies out of her bag concernedly, stopping to hover in the air below her face. His eyes are wide, searching, and nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey… hellcat, you okay?” the kwami asks worriedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé wills the pain down, down, down, burying it back into the back of her mind along with the echoes of goodbye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ridiculous emotions recede into tense numbness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it hardens into grim determination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Whatever.” She turns her face away, purses her lips, and says in the most unaffected, haughty voice she can muster, “Come on, Plagg.” Then she walks towards her father’s hotel—which happens to be the exact opposite direction of Luka.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh—” Plagg stares at her, his jaw slack. He hovers in the air for a second before rushing to her side. “Hey! We’re not going after him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé huffs at him. She savagely adjusts her bag over her shoulder as she descends the school’s front steps, ignoring the tiny pinpricks of pain in her palms from the motion. As she walks down the street—</span>
  <em>
    <span>stomps, </span>
  </em>
  <span>more like—she keeps her face resolutely forward and her chin proudly high. The kwami flies back into her purse away from prying eyes, but leaves the zipper open. Chloé automatically brings her phone up and pretends to take a call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we’re going straight home,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You heard him. The idiot doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>about to let some Italian hussy treat me like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-but you’re Red Beetle and Chat Noire! Two sides of the same whole, partners! You can’t fight like this!” Plagg exclaims. He flaps his arms nervously. “What about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hawkmoth?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé shoots him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> before ducking into a familiar alleyway. With the new privacy, she pockets her phone, abandoning all pretense of a call. Plagg flies up to her, arms crossed and expecting an explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dimly registers it’s the same alleyway where she learned that idiot’s real full name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a disagreement, Plagg,” the wielder sulks at her kwami, “and one that was going to happen sooner or later. Besides, I’m still Chat Noire and he’s still Red Beetle. No matter how much we argue, it’s never affected our fights. ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s… not entirely true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all their bickering, Chloé and Luka work best as a harmonious team. They have their tense moments—a stray kick or punch here and there, a sharp comment that cuts deeper than intended—but for the most part, they get the job done, and they get it done </span>
  <em>
    <span>faster </span>
  </em>
  <span>when they’re not seriously out to get each other and are instead more focused on taking out the monster of the week. Obviously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plagg eyes her dubiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...it won’t affect our fights,” the blonde amends. She purses her lips and turns away, a clear sign for the kwami to back off. “Look, just… trust me on this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She really needs someone in her corner right now. Luka’s out, Sabrina’s turned traitor, Marinette is an outsider, her daddy is so far removed from the situation, and her classmates and all of Paris are equal to enemies in her eyes. Honestly, a part of Chloé is surprised the little kwami has elected to stay with her instead of going after Tikki and her wielder. Isn’t there some kind of ancient kwami thingamajig rule or whatever that says those two are a set? Regardless, a faint swell of warmth blooms in her chest, far underneath the many layers of red hot rage and ice cold apathy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I trust your judgment,” Plagg sighs. He gives her an encouraging half-smile, his velvety black ears perking up mischievously. Chloé suspects his attitude is just for her sake, but neither of them comment on it. “But you owe me some of that </span>
  <em>
    <span>dee-lectable </span>
  </em>
  <span>cheddar I saw Marlena order in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His wielder rolls her eyes at the mention of the hotel’s head chef. In the past few months, Mrs. Césaire has had to explain away the disappearances of several rare, expensive cheeses and wines in the pantry ever since Plagg became a part of Chloé’s life. Chloé almost feels a little bad for putting the chef in an uncomfortable position with her father </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but oh well. It’s for a good cause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because sometimes, you have to step over a few people to get what you want.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shameless glutton.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plagg cackles unrepentantly. “That’s right! You gotta give it to me if you want my cooperation, hellcat! Mwahaha!” he crows, spreading his tiny arms out in a slight upwards curl like a cheesy cartoon villain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The words are on the tip of her tongue, but Chloé doesn’t utter them. It’s just not who she is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s not some sweet, unassuming girl who brings enough cookies for everyone, whose clumsiness and mistakes are considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>endearing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’s not a shy wallflower that timidly agrees with everything thrown her way with little regard for herself. She—she’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind, selfless, brave</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or whatever her few supporters keep spinning her out to be, both in and out of the suit. She’s Chloé Bourgeois—as spoiled as she is beautiful, as ruthless as any politician, and as </span>
  <em>
    <span>much of a bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span> as everyone thinks she is. She’ll deal with her problems as she always has.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And honestly? That’s just fine with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde smirks and flicks her wrist to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plagg, claws out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mommy? Are you there?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé wakes up with a start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the buttcrack of dawn when her ice blue eyes pop open. Her breathing is a bit shallow, her heart hammers in her chest, and light perspiration has settled into her hairline from the unpleasant dream. Thankfully, Plagg is nowhere near. She closes her eyes and flops back onto her eiderdown pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid dream…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, it only takes a few minutes to start feeling like herself again, and by </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Chloé means her absolute best self. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She showers and changes into her crispest, cleanest everyday outfit. The light grey bags underneath her eyes and other cracks in her image are carefully plastered over with expensive makeup. Her nails are scrubbed clean of every trace of green and black before she coats them with a perfect, even layer of sunshine yellow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stuffs a random piece of jewelry into her purse on her way out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila may have caught Chloé off guard with her surprise entrance, but from now on, the blonde isn’t giving up any more ground. Lila won’t know what hit her until it’s too late. All Chloé has to do is stick to the plan. No distractions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, the limousine pulls up to Françoise Dupont High School.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé’s eyes widen at her window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A familiar teal bike is chained up the bicycle rack. Her gaze travels across the empty, windy courtyard, up the deserted steps, and lands upon a lone figure at the top. It’s a dark-haired boy wearing two worn jackets that have been zipped up and layered over each other to ward off the slight chill in the air.  There is no mistaking that—</span>
  <em>
    <span>truly terrible, how does he live with himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>—fashion sense.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Bourgeois?” the driver inquires. “Is anything the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé shakes her head. Already, she’s gingerly pushing the door open, careful not to drop the single coffee in her hand. “Nothing. Be here at the usual time,” she murmurs distractedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She keeps her steps measured, not wanting to betray the faint spark of eagerness, of hope, that she feels seeing Luka waiting at their usual spot and time. Luka, for his part, keeps his face completely devoid of emotion, but he observes her as she approaches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a paper bag of Dupain-Cheng baked goods. Familiar. If Chloé had to guess, she would say that its contents were just as untouched as the black coffee she held. This close, she can faintly smell the bag’s cheesy aroma and she wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But then his eyes ask her an unspoken question. She frowns, finding she can’t quite meet his eyes as she shakes her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah. So that’s how it is. Whatever.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t changed my mind,” she informs him, uncaring, bitchy mask slipping back into place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luka stares at her blankly. “Then we have nothing to talk about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t speak. They don’t even look at each other. The bell rings and they part ways like the strangers they now are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ugh, this is ridiculous! Andre! Why is she here?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dear, she’s your—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t care. Have someone else deal with the brat. And fire whoever was supposed to be watching her!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“…yes dear. Right away.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Good. I’m a very busy woman and we have nothing to talk about.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least coming early today gives her an advantage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the rest of the class begins to filter in, Chloé is already primly perched upon Sabrina’s seat. With one knee over the other, her elbows leaning against the two person desk, and her chin resting on horizontal, interlocked fingers, she’s the poster child for Bitchy High School Socialite. The little smile she gives Lila as the brunette walks in is particularly Regina George-esque.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” she drawls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twin-tailed girl’s eyes widen in suspicious surprise for a second before she smooths it over with a fake smile. “Chloé,” Lila replies, her voice saccharine, “are you a little lost? Your seat is up there in the back now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé hums. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” she agrees. “It was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard to focus back there that I knew I had to come back. Obviously, I can’t just take back my old spot because it helps you see, but then I saw this—” the blonde heiress scoops a jeweled necklace out of her purse, much to Plagg’s consternation as he’d been playing with the shiny thing “—and  it reminded me of my </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> who would totally be fine switching seats. Right, Sabrina?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Granted,</span>
  </em>
  <span> dangling that bribe is a bit too transparent for a politician’s daughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does Chloé care? Not really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needs this spot, both to keep an eye on Lila for her plan and to protect Adrien from whatever lies the Italian will undoubtedly tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there, it’s a screwed-up auction for Sabrina’s favor that ends in a landslide victory for the blonde. Lila makes up some excuse about going back to the locker room—</span>
  <em>
    <span>to cry, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Chloé hopes meanly—and Sabrina looks up at her from a step below the desk. The ginger-haired girl looks… a bit guilty, honestly. Remorseful. She gazes at Chloé with that awful look even as her new prize sparkles around her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chloé?” Sabrina starts hesitantly. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I know I shouldn’t have left you like that, but it’s just that Lila has all these </span>
  <em>
    <span>stories</span>
  </em>
  <span> and they were so </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé hates it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already forgotten,” the blonde cuts her off sarcastically. At that point, she just wants the other girl to stop talking. Sabrina blinks at her, confused as to whether she meant Lila’s tales or her own abandonment, before she decides it doesn’t matter and skips the rest of the way to her new spot. Chloé watches her go, inwardly sighing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To distract herself, she takes out her phone and snaps a few selfies. That doesn’t stop one traitorous, intrusive thought from slipping past the sparkles and filters.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Luka would have caught on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face scrunches up at the thought of the guitar freak, ruining the shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mommy? Are you still busy?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Eh? You again? Ugh—I knew that buffoon of a husband couldn’t follow simple tasks…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Buffoon?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t you have things to do with those uh… caretakers of yours? Go file taxes or do whatever children do these days.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I already did all my homework. And studied for an hour.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And? That’s useless to me. What am I supposed to do with a bookworm?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Um, maybe we could go out to eat? Daddy said you weren’t busy now, so maybe—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let me teach you a little lesson on humans, my dear…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next akuma spawns days later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other than their morning meeting on the first day, Luka is true to his word. It’s been nothing but radio silence between them ever since their argument, but Red Beetle is still the first to show up to fight against Hawkmoth, or rather, his newest unfortunate recruit, Unexplained Long Hiatus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fight is </span>
  <em>
    <span>brutal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucky Charms are manifested and discarded. The akuma lands quite a few hits more than the average villain, securing it the number one spot on the Ladyblog’s ‘Top 10 Vicious Villains’ list. Red Beetle gets tangled up in his own yo-yo string at least twice from not paying attention. Chat Noire is </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> she dusted the Eiffel Tower with Cataclysm at some point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a two-hour-long ordeal that has Chat Noire swaying by the end… though her inability to stand completely still could be attributed to either the late nights she’d spent cramming chemistry and math lessons she’d hardly paid attention to in class, the hours between 3 AM and 6 AM where she’d lie in bed suspended in some not-quite-awake state of being, or the fact that all she’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours is a slice of watermelon that was shoved down her throat by Plagg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And through it all, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>word is directly exchanged between the two partners.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh, just get me out of here already.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Chat Noire fights back the urge to rub her temples. Her lame partner is currently attempting to capture the akuma, which means she has to stick around until he does, just in case it gets away. This also means she has to deal with annoying, nosy, wannabe reporters who </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t know when to quit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’d think after five monosyllabic answers, the Ladyblogger would give up, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had to keep going until she hit a nerve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t help but notice the two of you were off your game today,” Alya Césaire observes. She puts the superheroine front and center of the camera and nudges forward. “Any particular reason for that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s fishing for a particular answer. Chat Noire maintains her million-dollar smile, even if it does become a bit sharp at the edges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever do you mean?” She feigns ignorance. “Today was business as usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone knows the two of you like to bicker, but today? No words at all. And I saw you. You and I both know Red Beetle could have put that scrunchie Lucky Charm to better use, yet you didn’t say anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t ‘like to bicker,’ Césaire. Trust me, our rivalry has always been genuine. We argue all the time because I barely agree with whatever goes on in that bug’s brain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could the reason for your disagreement be Lila Rossi and her relationship with Red Beetle? Miss Rossi implied that you had jealousy issues, but I’d like to get your side of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There it is.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde scowls, losing some of her composure. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Chat Noire scoffs. “Me? Jealous? They’re not even dating, and I wouldn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>if they were! If anything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the problem with—</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The black-clad heroine suddenly rocks forward a bit too far as another strong wave of dizziness washes over her. She stumbles, half-expecting a pair of calloused, firm hands to keep her upright, but no. Instead, she’s met with a soft grip on her shoulders and wide, concerned hazel eyes. Despite herself, Chat Noire finds her eyes gravitating towards a certain spotted superhero. He doesn’t even glance in her direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah! Hey, are you all right?” Alya asks, concerned, pocketing her phone. “You don’t look so good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warm. Sturdy. Someone to rely on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chat Noire shuts her eyes and waits until up feels like up and down feels like down again before responding. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Let go of me, Césaire,” she bites out. The blonde immediately extricates herself from her classmate’s hold, uncomfortable with the close proximity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, the Miraculous Cure pulls through and begins its sweep across the city, giving her an excuse to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if she sways to the left a bit as she extends her baton, no one comments on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, instead, Paris comments on the Ladyblog’s top article that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Superhero Duo in Jeopardy?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Written by: Alya Césaire</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the past few months, the city of love has become enamoured with superhero duo Red Beetle and Chat Noire. Using powers known as ‘Miraculous,’ the two defend Paris against supervillain Hawkmoth’s akumas with a now-signature style: while Red Beetle picks fights with cool and calculated precision, Chat Noire charges in with a certain panache most supermodels can only dream of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because of their fire-and-ice dynamic, the public, including this blog, has expressed a keen interest in their personal lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no denying the chemistry. Though the two have constantly denied a romantic relationship, their familiar behavior with each other suggests otherwise. At the very least, Red Beetle and Chat Noire’s interactions suggest a close friendship, one that may even extend to their lives outside the mask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[image.jpg]</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pictured above: Red Beetle and Chat Noire debating whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. Chat Noire is for. Red Beetle is against.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>[image.jpg]</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pictured above: Chat Noire absorbing the brunt of an attack meant for Red Beetle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>[image.jpg]</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pictured above: Red Beetle strangling the akuma with his yo-yo string, the akumatized object at his feet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>[image.jpg]</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pictured above: Red Beetle and Chat Noire departing together.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>However, something has shifted the dynamic between them, and it seems that even a friendship isn’t likely. In the battle against the Unexplained Long Hiatus, the two barely spoke and worked separately instead of as a team.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reason?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My theory is that Red Beetle has finally confessed his feelings for Chat Noire, but was rejected. This may be because of rumors of his relationship—whether or not it is romantic remains to be confirmed—with </span>
  <span>Lila Rossi</span>
  <span>, or it could be because Chat Noire deemed Red Beetle’s </span>
  <span>actions against her in the past</span>
  <span> unforgivable. Either way, the two of them aren’t speaking, largely in part to Chat Noire’s snubbing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[image.jpg]</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pictured above: Red Beetle staring at Chat Noire as she ignores him, post battle against the </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Unexplained Long Hiatus</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> akuma.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It is unsure how this will affect future battles. We still do not know the nature of Red Beetle and Chat Noire’s </span>
  <span>powers</span>
  <span>. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> know, however, that their powers are concentrated in their earrings and ring, respectively, and that it can be transferred to other users. We also know that they work best as a team.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they continue to struggle against the akumas as they did today, there may be a possibility of Paris getting a new Red Beetle, Chat Noire, or both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What do you think? Let’s discuss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[Comments (561)]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Related Articles:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Top 10 Vicious Villains</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lila Rossi: A Love Triangle?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>True Identities Theories</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Miraculous: Everything We Know So Far</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not completely happy with how things turned out, but hopefully I can put things back on the road to better in the next chapter! It was just getting a little long, as with all of my pity parties. :^)</p><p>Wow, Alya writes some really problematic (for the Miraculous wielders) articles, huh... </p><p>Also I kinda yoinked the article formatting from toriosaurus's SKK fic "still still still". Uh... I don't know if that's too close to plagiarization, but yeah... small chance of the article changing in the future. :')</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. cut</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just want to say that there's no self-harm, despite the chapter's title. It's all an implied event in the past (see near the end of Ch. 9).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A famous Chinese man once said: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Know thy self, know thy enemy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A not-famous-yet French girl adds onto it: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Know thy self, know thy enemy through various means of stalking and surveillance. And notes. Lots and lots of notes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Rossi lies. A lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though where most people would struggle to juggle so many fake stories, the twin-tailed girl seems to thrive on it, even working it to her advantage. You could call out a fake story when it’s isolated and amongst many truths. You can’t do that with Rossi’s rapid-fire storytelling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hence, the notebook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purchased a few days after Rossi’s arrival, a notebook lies in her purse, it’s unassuming black-and-gold kittens cover masking the malicious intent of its contents. For every outrageous story Lila tells, Chloé records it, saves it for later that night when she can fact-check and debunk each and every one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s tiring and honestly annoying, but Chloé beats the image of Rossi crying a trail of tears down the steps of Francois-Dupont into her head until she’s ready to burst with determination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>worth it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Monday, Chloé surprisingly ends up in a group assignment with Adrien and Marinette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Working with Adrien isn’t the surprising part. It’s Marinette. The other girl had actually willingly switched her group—an academic jackpot of Max and Juleka—for Césaire’s spot, not even batting an eye at working with Chloé. At the blonde’s questioning look, Marinette just smiled strangely and says it’s nice to work with the two of them. As in </span>
  <em>
    <span>both.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Weird. And maybe a little cool. But mostly weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>…especially when not even ten minutes into their assigned history project on the French Revolution, Adrien sheds his suave, model student persona to become the overdramatic weeb he really is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> he just goes </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Cthulu with these gravity bombs—”  Adrien stops, trying to collect himself and failing immensely. Gesturing dramatically, her clown of a friend continues, “And I just—it’s beautiful, you know? He has this ultimate destructive ability, but he uses it to </span>
  <em>
    <span>protect—“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A single tear slips down his cheek. Marinette gapes. Chloé thinks that Adrien’s lucky he’s hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What show is it again? Something, something, stray dogs? Some Japanese thing. She didn’t quite catch the name because A) Chloé’s more of a cat person</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> honestly, and B) she’s not giving him her full attention because of a certain group working right next to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And right now, Chloé needs him to sit quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrien is like a small cat, easily distracted by shiny new things, even in conversations. Distractions are key. And Chloé has become very good at distractions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raps the bottom of the other girl’s chin with her pen. “Try not to catch any flies. You are what you eat, Dupain-Cheng.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marinette huffs. “Hey!—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It works. Adrien chuckles. “On the bright side, Marinette,” he interrupts cheerfully, “if you do turn into a fly, we could come up with cool nickname to suit you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A-a-a n-nickname?” Marinette stammers, her face turning snow white, then a deep red. “For me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teen model nods eagerly. He doesn’t seem to be aware of the effect he’s having on the dark-haired girl. “Sure! How about… Marifly? Buginette?” An epiphany strikes him, and he snaps his fingers. “I know! Bugaboo! Cute, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Guh,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> chokes out both girls, one from blatant disgust and the other from suppressed elation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, Marinette looks like she might blast off from her seat like a rocket at launch, only the launch would consist of pink backgrounds, copious sparkles, and cheesy theme music. Chloé blinks. She then rubs her temples free of that disturbing image.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adrien, focus,” Chloé growls. The lack of sleep is definitely getting to her. That, or the presence of Paris’s biggest drama king and the world’s clumsiest disaster. Probably both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrien laughs, but obliges, bending over his portion of the work once more. “Never thought you of all people,” he mutters to himself, trailing off when he notices her pen pausing on the paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, dangerously, Chloé asks, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “You wanting to work, I guess? It’s kind of unexpected, coming from you,” he tries explaining, only making it worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...is that bad?” she presses, getting progressively more irritated the more Adrien looks like a deer in headlights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s never cared about her grades, or anything in school outside of the attention people paid her. Daddy didn’t push for it, and instead left her to her own devices. He trusts she at least won’t fail out, and she hasn’t the past few years, largely in part to Daddy’s position and Sabrina’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>assistance</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Besides, why worry about a good education when you’ve got a massive trust fund to fall back on?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, recently Chloé </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> been paying more attention in class, and has been steadily raising her grades through mostly her own effort, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Telling Adrien off? Staying up late to review coursework? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No-nonsense study like this has always been more </span>
  <em>
    <span>Luk— </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. I like it!” Adrien declares after a moment so short he probably didn’t think about it at all and relied on instinct. Chloé’s eyes snap to him. He beams at her, all sunshine and rainbows and everything good as he dutifully works on his portion of the assignment. She smiles wanly, her annoyance melting away to lukewarm acceptance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>work,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she purrs, her voice lowering and tone becoming half-commanding, half-teasing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That seems to click. Eyes slightly wider, Adrien bobs his head and salutes. “Yes ma’am!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You like everything, Adrikins.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé gives the top of his head a fond smile before turning her attention to their other group partner. Marinette hasn’t spoken since being called “Bugaboo.” In fact, she seems to be frozen in place, not responding when Chloé waves her hand in front of her face. As usual, Adrien is oblivious. Sighing, she adjusts marionette-Marinette and slips a pen into her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pointedly ignores how this isn’t the </span>
  <em>
    <span>first time</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’s had to deal with a starstruck partner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More peals of bubbly laughter and even a shy chuckle echo from the neighboring trio of Lila, Rose, and Nathaniel. For a moment, jade green eyes slide in her direction—or, more accurately, towards Adrien. Chloé glares, feeling that anger take over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrien likes everything and everyone, even when there’s nothing to like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s why she likes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s also why Chloé—under the cover of a comfortable, still-petrified Marinette—reaches into her purse, pushing aside a dozing Plagg. Chloé then proceeds to write down every outrageous tale the transfer student has said in the past twenty minutes of this class period. Compiling evidence, if you will. While Adrien details the decapitation of Louis XVI, she stifles her yawns and plans an execution of her own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A figurative, </span>
  <em>
    <span>social </span>
  </em>
  <span>execution, of course! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Relax, Plagg.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s not losing her friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Tuesday evening, Chloé spends time with another friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A more accurate way of describing it though, is “spending time” with “another friend.” For the blonde, this is just… business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lounging in a bubbling hot tub on the roof of Le Grand Paris, Chloé cracks open one eye at Sabrina. Sabrina is punctual to her summons, as usual, and stands ready at the edge. She’s wearing a lavender one-piece and a green face mask to match Chloé’s, but that’s not what prompts the blonde’s instant frown. From Sabrina’s neck dangles a familiar necklace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She decides she doesn’t like the way it looks on Sabrina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, why’d you bring that thing in here? You do know the chlorine and bromine levels of this water will do serious damage to it, right?” Chloé asks her derisively. “Whatever, just get in already. One night won’t be too harsh on it, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other girl settles in on the opposite seat. To Chloé’s horror, Sabrina begins to unclasp the necklace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, what are you doing?” The blonde’s voice comes out a bit higher and slightly panicky. “First you wanna wear it here and now you’re taking it off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sabrina doesn’t notice, as she’s sporting a similar, more obvious expression. “Well, I was just thinking that I don’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> another necklace, so you can take it back. That’s why I wore it here. To give it back,” Sabrina explains in an attempt to make Chloé feel better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé does not feel better. She shifts from annoyance to a sort of apprehensive state. That thing was given to Sabrina for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde crosses her arms. “You don’t like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> like it, but—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends, </span>
  </em>
  <span>right?” Chloé places extra emphasis on that word, packing the transactional, unconventional nature of their </span>
  <em>
    <span>friendship </span>
  </em>
  <span>in that one syllable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Chloé—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so what’s the problem?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally given the chance to speak, Sabrina seems at a loss for words. She fiddles with her hands in her lap. “...I don’t know,” she admits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot water bubbles between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to keep it?” Sabrina asks slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously. I gave it to you,” Chloé sneers, closing her eyes, reapplying the cucumber slices, and leaning back. She wasn’t planning on </span>
  <em>
    <span>relaxing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but after that conversation, maybe she needs a little—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...but if you want it back, just tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé sighs. “Just shut up about the stupid necklace, Sabrina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Chloé. Sorry for bringing it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. It’s fine. Tell me what your dad told you about that thing I mentioned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday is exhausting, and the equally-exhausting, hour-long akuma battle didn’t help. Luckily, the tip of Eiffel Tower is out of a certain blogger’s reach and Chloé manages to keep it together, passive-aggressive glares shot at her spotted partner notwithstanding. When she gets home though, Chloé unceremoniously flops on her bed in a boneless heap, detransforming in a flash of bright green.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plagg flits out, looking far too peppy for someone who has the kwami-equivalent of eyebags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises a brow at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, hellcat. It’s time for dinner! Aren’t you craving some </span>
  <em>
    <span>fooooood?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> the black kwami cajoles her, ignoring that look. He flies down and lightly bounces on the mattress beside her. “How about some sushi? We can order takeout from that place across the street! I heard they have some </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>good Philadelphia rolls!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé barely pays him any attention. She instead curls up even more around her plush pillow, pressing it up against her stomach. The cushion is soft, but firm, and most importantly, it helps the blonde ignore the pangs of hunger that shoot through her body every so often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, she’s so tired. And hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, maybe hungry isn’t enough to describe the feeling completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Empty, maybe?’  </span>
  </em>
  <span>her mind supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in the mood, Plagg,” she mumbles, unlocking her phone—a missed call from Daddy and a spam text about essential cannabis oils go ignored—boredly switching between four different luxury brand websites. A cute, deep emerald purse with a bejeweled handle catches her eye. Without even looking at the price—which </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be an exorbitant amount given that it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yves Saint Laurent</span>
  </em>
  <span>—Chloé places an order for it on her personal card.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe Sabrina will like it better than the necklace…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Plagg doesn’t drop the subject of food. “Hm… what about extra-cheese pizza?” he persists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too many calories.” Not to mention the fact that Chloé hasn’t had pizza since she was twelve years old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crab rangoon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fake Chinese food. And that also has cheese,” Chloé reminds him. Her last bite of that was at twelve too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coconut chicken curry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Marlena’s day off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mexican!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Plagg.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé rolls over so that she’s on her back, her phone now held up over her face. Tired blue eyes flit away from designer bags and towards the kwami that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying so hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> despite not really doing this whole ‘comforting’ thing on the regular. Not that Chloé needs to be comforted. She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She inwardly sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knock it off. If you’re hungry, just order whatever you want only. I’m not in the mood tonight, and besides—busy with our </span>
  <em>
    <span>project, </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plagg stares at her for a long moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Plagg sniffs and turns his nose up, a move he’d picked up from her. “Then I’ll have those salmon skin rolls I mentioned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Extra </span>
  </em>
  <span>avocado, hold the cucumber.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde arches an eyebrow at her kwami. “Dummy. You don’t even like avocado,” she reminds him, nevertheless placing an order for sushi at their usual place. Distantly, she registers the order as </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>favorite, not Plagg’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Plagg snorts, “but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> not the hungry one here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flies off to munch on his mozzarella stick, but not before spitefully knocking over her glass of wine. His wielder watches him go behind the balcony with a sigh and tired eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too-tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>, apparently, as Chloé thinks she spots a flash of red beyond the curtains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A trick of the light, perhaps?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she checks though, the balcony is empty and Plagg is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday morning arrives and Chloé’s a nervous wreck. Plagg’s still missing. Her butler gives her a glance on the drive to school and offers to help her skip for the day—even produces a Mr. Cuddly—but she can’t stop thinking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Plagg.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Is that even allowed? Are kwami even capable of being so far from their wielders? What if an akuma spawns and he still hasn’t come back? Is she not Chat Noire anymore?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least she still has the ring. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That counts for something,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Chloé continuously reminds herself as she aggressively spins the silver band on her finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, that silver lining doesn’t stop her from sitting hunched over at her classroom and harassing Google’s search bar with queries such as “how long do cats run away for,” “how long will my cat be mad at me,” “pet detectives cats paris france,” and “how to get over my lost bitchass cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my god why Plaaaaaaagg—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, Juleka Couffaine thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a good time to approach the irate blonde. Chloé thinks it must be the dark, gloomy aura that called to the other girl, but whatever the case Chloé resolutely ignores her. However, the shy goth is rather persistent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...um, Chloé…”</span>
</p><p><span>The blonde lets out a long-suffering sigh and straightens. “What do you want, </span><em><span>Couffaine?”</span></em><span> Chloé snaps, the surname coming out with a bit more bite</span> <span>and volume than intended. A few of their classmates look at the curiously, prompting her to flush. “Well? Spit it out already. I haven’t got all day.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Yo, chill out Chloé,” Nino comments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. She’s just trying to help,” adds Rose, placing a consoling hand on Juleka’s shoulder. More heads turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé blinks, then scowls. She feels her irritation rising. “Ugh. Why would I need help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because we know you don’t really care about anyone but yourself—” and Alix’s words sting a little more than they should “—but we noticed you feeling off lately. We got worried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Juleka reaches out a hand towards the pink-haired athlete, only making it halfway. Chloé’s eyes zero in on her lace gloves. The sight of them hits a little different now, knowing what likely lay underneath. Now, there’s an unpleasant feeling in her chest now, a sort of heavy choking around her heart, and she falters in her response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Chloé feels guilty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to, Alix, I got it,” Juleka mumbles. She tugs her bangs a little more over her face. “I’m the one that has to do this…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alix’s response is immediate. Rounding on Juleka, Alix places her hands on the goth’s shoulders. “No. You don’t have to do anything, and you shouldn’t have to take her crap. We’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Juleka’s eyes soften. “…thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dark-haired girl worries at the ends of her gloves before turning back to Chloé. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… I just… you’ve been looking kind of down, so… here. From a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She produces a small, folded paper parcel from her bag. It’s slightly crushed on the edges from her schoolbooks, but there’s no mistaking the Dupain-Cheng logo, nor the familiar aroma emanating from the bag’s contents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé doesn’t have to look inside to know that it’s a simple slice of baguette, spread with lightly-salted butter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah. So Luka put her up to this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking of Luka dredges up the old feelings of hurt, and it’s not Juleka’s fault, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not really</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but the little devil inside is raging why, why </span>
  <em>
    <span>why her, why does she get all this while Chloé’s always</span>
  </em>
  <span>—well. It doesn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Chloé next speaks, it’s to cut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, that’s nice. Are you done?” she drawls sarcastically, flipping her hair. “Because if you didn’t notice, I have better things to do than accept </span>
  <em>
    <span>emotional comfort</span>
  </em>
  <span> from you, of all people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A silence that spans a heartbeat falls. The whole classroom looks at her incredulously—everyone, except for Juleka, who seems to shrivel in on herself. A painful sort of satisfaction blooms in Chloé’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” Juleka begins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Chloé taunts, her voice sharp, but her target never responds. Someone else does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chloé, that was mean. Apologize,” Adrien says sternly. Everyone’s surprised eyes flick over to the pacifistic blonde. His expression and voice are hard, and—and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>been that way towards Chloé before. Right now, he’s neither the perfect son, model student, or enthusiastic nerd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crosses her arms at this not-Adrien. “Huh? No, I don’t think I will. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She</span>
  </em>
  <span> bothered </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If anything, she should apologize!” she huffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A deep breath. “Then maybe you should leave. Can’t you see she’s upset?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé blinks. “...what? But—you’re not seriously taking her side, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a familiar sequence of words, but Adrien’s response is different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sees something give away in the other blonde. The anger seems to drain out of him as his shoulders relax and his eyes take on something… </span>
  <em>
    <span>softer</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but no less disgusting to see. It’s pity. Even his usually-impish voice is tainted by that gentle bittersweetness of concern. Chloé frowns, but finds herself latching onto that pity, even if it stings—</span>
  <em>
    <span>obliterates, </span>
  </em>
  <span>really—her pride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because him wanting to reason with her means he actually wants her to stay, right? Because they’re friends, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Chloé, it’s not like that, but you have to understand…” Adrien tries again gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opens before Adrien could try to smooth things over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Literally the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing happens. Lila steps into the room with a timing that is too perfect to be coincidental, her puke-colored eyes taking in the scene with what could only be described as thinly-veiled smugness that somehow only Chloé notices. The brunette lifts two hands to her perfectly o-shaped mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was definitely watching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh, what happened?” Lila gasps, her eyes wide. And that’s fine. Chloé can take that, and was even expecting that sort of mockery, but the cool hand on her elbow as Lila invades her personal space with faux concern? “Chloé, you look terrible. Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde jerks her arm away as if burned. She’s no longer trying to hide the disgust that fills every fiber of her being whenever she looks at the other girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch</span>
  </em>
  <span> me,” Chloé seethes, readjusting her purse that had fallen askew. “I was just leaving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She backs off a few more steps before turning on her heel. The door slams loudly behind her, but not before Chloé hears a few snatches of conversation amongst her fellow classmates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few “are you okay?” and “don’t mind her” murmurs of concern mostly directed at Juleka, but some towards Lila.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A trembling “did I do something wrong?” from the source of all this trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then an “it’s Chloé, what’d you expect?” that is muttered a little too loudly by Alya and felt a little too keenly by the rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-x- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obviously, Chloé couldn’t attend class for the rest of that day. Or week, but she’s taking it one day at a time. Sure, she can go back, keep leaning on Adrien until he just forgets about everything that just happened, but she’s not wired for that sort of conflict resolution. Instead, she does what she usually does, which is hold up in her room, angrily throw overpriced sushi at whatever is on TV and down like, five or six sangrias. You know, the usual stuff they do in teenage dramas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she can persuade Adrien to move to a private school with her..?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Chloé can pursue that line of thought though, the service phone rings. She picks it up with an irate huff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, Jean-Luc?! I’m having a moment here!” the blonde growls, throwing wasabi at the old white guy up for election.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Butler Jean takes it in stride. “Miss Bourgeois,” he replies calmly, “I know you said not to bother you today, but there is an elderly Asian man in the lobby that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>insistent on meeting with you for a scheduled Chinese language lesson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé blinks in surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Master Fu? What’s he doing here? He’s not here to take back the Miraculous, is he?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was not even aware you booked that, mademoiselle. Normally, I would have sent him away,” he continues, “but Monsieur Wang Fu has solid teaching credentials and he knows your personal number. Mademoiselle, are you still there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé snaps out of it. Ignoring the pit of dread and worry that’s settled in her stomach, she asks, “Is he wearing a really tacky, red floral shirt with the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>hideous</span>
  </em>
  <span> khakis ever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause. Then, a hesitant, “Uh, no. He’s wearing a blue floral shirt and khakis. Should I send him away, or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has multiple Hawaiian shirts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bruh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Chloé mentally gags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, let him up,” she sighs, deciding to face the inevitable. “And don’t disturb us for however long he stays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For your Chinese lesson?” the butler reaffirms Master Fu’s cover story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, yeah. For my Chinese lesson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, a gentle knock comes at her door. Opening it reveals Wang Fu in all his short, beach bum splendor. To Chloé’s relief, he doesn’t look disappointed or angry with her, though his expression turns to one of mild apology when Plagg flies out from behind him with a “tada!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plagg flies unapologetically to his usual spot on the crown of her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Master Fu beams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chloé pouts at the kwami and her—</span>
  <em>
    <span>technically</span>
  </em>
  <span>—boss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Miss Bourgeois,” the Guardian of the Miraculous greets serenely.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey guys. Thanks for all the continued support. Sorry for not answering comments (writing angsty stuff like this puts me in a mood) but I really am so happy other people are deriving enjoyment from this fic. See you soon, hopefully, and uh, stan BSD. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. you don't really believe that</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yooooooo. Seasonal depression and angsty writings hit me like a TRUCK, but I'M BACK AND WE'RE GONNA FINISH THIS AYAYAYA</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is beyond weird. It’s also beyond <em>terrifying.</em></p><p>“Let’s go to the balcony. There’s a table setup that’s out of sight from anyone,” Chloé announces brightly.</p><p>As she leads her surprise guest further into her suite, Chloé does her best to look nonchalant, unaffected, and <em>the epitome of chill,</em> well aware that she probably looks completely the opposite. Thankfully, neither Plagg nor Master Fu comment on her smudged eye makeup. Or the smashed glass cups in the corner of the room from when she hurled them at the wall, their crimson contents obvious against the white marble floor. Or the maroon tatters of what was once a Valentino—<em>stupid Italians</em>—sweater, strewn about her bed like a crime scene.</p><p>What? She was mad, okay? You can’t expect the wielder of the <em>Destruction Miraculous</em> not to do a little destruction herself now and then.</p><p>By the time they’re outside and seated, Chloé has a plan and she’s a lot calmer. Kind of.</p><p>Obviously, the Guardian is here in person because he wants the Miraculous back. Because he seems like one of those really goodie-two-shoes types, he probably thinks he has to do it in person and with all the formalities, question-asking and all. The fact that he’s glanced at Plagg and her Miraculous not once, not twice, but<em> seven times</em> in the past five minutes is proof enough of his purpose here.</p><p>Plagg’s further nestling into her hair strengthens her resolve.</p><p>This old man won’t get the chance to ask.</p><p>“Miss Bourgeois,” Master Fu ventures cautiously. “Perhaps we can—”</p><p>“Funny seeing you today, Master Fu,” Chloé interrupts him.</p><p>The Guardian looks at her curiously. “Yes, but—”</p><p>“Anyways,” Chloé cuts in, “I don’t remember telling you—"</p><p>“—if you could please let me—”</p><p>“—where I live. Ha-ha-ha, how’d you find that out? Did Plagg tell you?”</p><p>“—finish a sentence, then—”</p><p>“He’s always doing that sort of thing, you know.” She wags her finger. “This giving out personal information thing. It’s the reason why I get cannabidiol and sexy lady spam texts—"</p><p>“Miss Bourgeois, I’m not taking away your Miraculous,” Master Fu says firmly.</p><p>Chloé’s mouth and finger freeze. Heat seeps into her cheeks at having been made so quickly. At Plagg’s poorly-muffled snickering, she hastily shoves her hands into her lap, and then settles for crossing her arms to avoid fidgeting.</p><p>“Well, why not?” Chloé demands, sticking up her nose haughtily. Immediately she mentally facepalms.</p><p>
  <em>Oh. Nope. Go back. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea</em>
  <em>—</em>
</p><p>But the elderly man smiles his Mister Miyagi smile, a gentle curve of the lips and the crinkling of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. His eyes, in particular, draw most of Chloé’s attention. He doesn’t look at her like she’s incapable or some sort of subpar human.</p><p>“You like being Chat Noire, don’t you?” Master Fu asks.</p><p>Her brows furrow. “Um… what?” Chloé replies, unsure what he means by that.</p><p>Obviously, Chloé enjoys being Chat Noire.</p><p>Annoying akuma attacks aside, there’s the utter freedom of flying about rooftops and the thrum of power ever present in the suit, in her hand when she activates Cataclysm.</p><p>There’s Plagg, the kwami that is supposedly her mentor, but acts and functions as more of an annoyingly endearing younger sibling that fills the vast empty spaces of her suite with whines for cheese, Amazon boxes, or both.</p><p>…and behind the mask, she’s not Chloé. She’s just a girl whose sharp words and superior attitude aren’t construed as inherently <em>bitchy</em> or <em>evil</em>, but as qualities of a stupid teenager stumbling along as best she can with another equally stupid teenager. She <em>belongs</em>, even if it’s just as a half, instead of a whole.</p><p>Though her status with the spotted hero was up in the air now. Technically<em>, </em>they were still partners, but…</p><p>Chloé shakes her head. She can’t think of Luka right now without thinking of Juleka and feeling this overwhelming <em>guilt</em><em>—</em></p><p>So does she like being Chat Noire? Like may be an understatement. She <em>loves</em> it.</p><p>But just because you like something doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re the best person for that thing, or that you’re even good at it. A writer can spend over a decade stumbling on a keyboard, churning out stories almost every day and still never improve. You wouldn’t pick that person to write an important article, or draft a new show’s script.</p><p>Effort doesn’t always equal success. Sometimes you fail. Sometimes, you’ll never be good enough no matter how hard you try. Both are facts Chloé is all too familiar with.</p><p>She’s not… <em>good enough</em>, and if you’re not useful, people won’t <em>want </em>you, and—</p><p>She doesn’t know how to play nice. She gets too angry. She doesn’t know how to <em>apolo</em><em>—</em></p><p>Chloé’s shoulders sag as she lets out a long breath. Thinking about the whole Lila-Luka-Juleka mess is exhausting and she’s tired<em>. </em>She’s not exactly defeated, but being actually confronted by another person aware of her dual identities—and failure to maintain them—takes a lot out of Chloé. Master Fu seems to notice because he shifts gears, his tone and posture becoming softer.</p><p>“Did something happen?” he asks gently.</p><p>Chloé scoffs. “Ha-ha, very funny. As if Plagg didn’t tell you,” she drawls bitterly.</p><p>“…Plagg did not inform me of it, no. Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>The kwami in question rubs the top of her forehead with his tiny paws. “I didn’t.”</p><p>
  <em>…</em>
  <em>huh.</em>
</p><p>She looks at the Guardian dubiously, seeing him in a new light. The offer <em>was </em>tempting, but—“What’s the point? It’s not like you can help.”</p><p>“Maybe, maybe not. But I can lend an ear,” Master Fu replies sagely. “Sometimes that is all people need.”</p><p>“You’re not going to tell me what to do or anything?”</p><p>“Should you wish it, I can offer advice.”</p><p>A snort comes from the blonde. “Right. Advice. From a massage therapist. Do you even know how teenagers think?”</p><p>A flash of determination crosses the Guardian’s eyes, the older man clearly taking her jibe as a challenge. “I may be 186 years old, but I can be poggers when I need to be.” He deadpans. All Chloé can do for a few moments is stare incredulously.</p><p>“I taught him that,” Plagg gloats.</p><p>“Why? What do you <em>gain?</em><em>”</em> she complains, only making the kwami laugh louder.</p><p>“So, what do you say, Miss Bourgeois?”</p><p>Master Fu smiles at her expectantly. Chloé lasts all of five seconds before she sighs.</p><p>“All right, <em>fine, </em>old man,” she caves, feeling a twinge of irritation when the Guardian’s smile grows wider, “but <em>just</em> listening ok? You can do that because you asked for it, but I don’t need any more dumb comments.”</p><p>Master Fu nods. “Do not worry. This is purely for your benefit. When you begin, I will be the ‘Guardian that Is Listening Fully’, or ’GILF’ for short.”</p><p>Pause. Then—</p><p>
  <em>“</em>
  <em>Plagg</em>
  <em>!</em>
  <em>"</em>
</p><p>“Hey, that one is Tikki’s fault!”</p><p>“And where did she get that from?”</p><p>The kwami chuckles.</p><p>“Literally never speak again, both of you.”</p><p>Ten minutes later though, Chloé is singing a different tune.</p><p>“Master Fu, what am I supposed to <em>do?” </em>she whines, sprawling forward on the table. Chloé turns her face to the side, uncaring of the way the cold iron is leaving an imprint on her skin. “It’s not like I meant what I said to Juleka.”</p><p>“Have you considered,” Wang Fu says gently, “apologizing?”</p><p>“You should have heard the others,” she mutters. At Master Fu’s questioning gaze, she mimics, “’It’s Chloé, what’d you expect’ and whatever. I’ll always be like this. An apology isn’t going to cut it.”</p><p>“But you don’t really believe that, do you?”</p><p>Icy blue meets soft amber.</p><p>-x-</p><p>One long, life-changing conversation later that may or may not be referenced in the future, Chloé shows Master Fu the door, the three of them having come to an uncertain, but hopeful end to the meeting. The elderly man pauses in the doorframe, clearly sensing a hesitation in his young, for lack of better word, charge.</p><p>“Yes, Miss Bourgeois? Did you have any more questions?” the Guardian inquires patiently.</p><p>Chloé thinks back to their meaningful and very deep exchange. She purses her lips and shakes her head.</p><p>“Well, yeah, but it’s not related to what we talked about.”</p><p>He nods for her to keep going.</p><p>“Something that stood out to me earlier, when you arrived. Why did Jean Luc call you a Chinese tutor? I thought you were a massage therapist.”</p><p>“Ah. Let me think…” Master Fu shifts his weight onto one leg, tapping his chin in contemplation. “I was preparing to use the language teaching certification in September, so going back August, July, June... I have been a registered Chinese language tutor since June, a few months before your superhero debut. It is most useful as an alibi to visit Chat Noire.”</p><p>“See, that’s what stood out to me. Your certification… as a Chinese tutor. For me. Someone who obviously takes Chinese.” A tiny smirk plays on her lips.</p><p>Master Fu smiles back again, but it’s different now. Though he looks outwardly the same, Chloé swears she can see a sweat-drop running down the side of his face. She was only teasing him—why is he so nervous?</p><p><em>Because you</em><em>’</em><em>ve insulted him,</em> a little voice in her head hisses. <em>You</em><em>’</em><em>re messing up already.</em></p><p>“H-hey, I was kidding, old man,” she says quickly to salvage the situation. “Whatever you could manage is fine. I’ll start ordering more Chinese stuff to make it believable, you know?”</p><p>Some of the tension eases off of the Guardian, but not all of it. Thankfully, he merely laughs it off and calls it an oversight on his part before leaving, albeit with less composure than he entered.  After Master Fu is gone, Chloé clears her bed and tucks herself under the covers, reaching for Mr. Cuddly once underneath. She’s drained, both mentally and physically, and while Chloé’s still not particularly hungry, she thinks she can forego the intensive studying and planning against Lila tonight, maybe order some of that Chinese food she said she would.</p><p>Master Fu’s words run through her mind.</p><p>Despite her insisting he not say a word, she’d ended up asking for his input anyways, about Lila and being Chat Noire. About Juleka, even if Chloé hadn’t mentioned the other girl by name. If someone like Chloé could even be… <em>redeemed</em>, maybe, but perhaps that isn’t the right word for it. ‘Redeemed’ seems too lofty a word, too <em>good</em> for someone who was never really described as such.</p><p>It’s a lot to think about.</p><p>“Plagg.”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Thanks for getting Master Fu here,”</p><p>But to her surprise, the black kwami’s confused expression from whenever he was last asked that doesn’t change. If anything, Plagg looks even more bewildered, tilting his head to the side and furrowing his little brow. Slowly, he swallows, thinking on it before shaking his head.</p><p>“I really didn’t get him though,” Plagg insists after a bite of cheese that was nearly double his head size. “The Guardian was already on his way here—I just happened to run into him because I stayed near the area. You know, in case an akuma popped up.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Maybe the Guardian has good instincts? And a good phone book?” Plagg tosses another piece of gouda up, catching it in midair. Mouth full, he adds, “He could have seen that you were in a bad mood and swung by to help.”</p><p>Chloé turns away from the sight, her gaze landing on the still-open balcony.</p><p>“…right. That was probably it.”</p><p>-x-</p><p>The next day comes faster than Chloé would have thought. It really is true what they say—time moves faster when you’re dreading what’s coming next. Or something along those lines.</p><p>“Hey, can I talk to you? Alone?”</p><p>Juleka pauses halfway through their classroom door. She looks surprised to see Chloé, but then again, the blonde <em>had</em> slinked out of the morning shadows of the hallway like some silent specter, or creepy serial killer. Chloé looks over the other girl. Juleka isn’t shrinking on herself—a good sign—but there’s a tenseness to her. The other girl glances between Chloé and the half-empty classroom.</p><p>“Please,” Chloé adds.</p><p>Whatever Juleka was searching for, she evidently finds it because her posture relaxes. She nods once, hiking her backpack higher on her shoulders. She lets the door close.</p><p>“Um… what is it you wanted to talk about?” the raven-haired girl mumbles once it’s only the two of them in the locker rooms.</p><p>“Well…”</p><p>Chloé’s not an idiot. She’s done apologies before, mostly at the behest of her dad for some other politician’s child she’s had the pleasure of offending, but those apologies were purely lip service. She’s never meant them past wanting to get them over with.</p><p>Juleka is different.</p><p>The difference is that she’s never wanted to change before, never wanted to step back and be a <em>good person</em> about it. She’s never had a reason to.</p><p>Then suddenly, she does.</p><p>Plagg. Adrien. Master Fu. Luka.</p><p>(And she knows this is a serious moment, but Chloé can’t help but picture small, anime-style caricatures of these people hovering around her in support. They’re very cute, even the Luka one, despite his dead-fish stare.)</p><p>Four reasons may not seem enough to spark a drastic change. Maybe it’s not. It’s probably not. Chloé knows she didn’t change overnight, but some time between yesterday night and this morning, she’s found that she’s willing to do <em>quite a bit</em> if only to make those four people in her life proud. And maybe that’s enough.</p><p>Four reasons are enough for her to summon up the courage and—</p><p>“Yesterday,” Chloé begins, “I said some things to you… that I shouldn’t have. Done some things.”</p><p>Juleka looks at her, eyes wide.</p><p>(Chibi Fu smiles his Mister Miyagi smile. Chibi Adrien and Chibi Plagg have struck up a friendship and come up with a fan-chant. Chibi Luka just stares.)</p><p>“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” Chloé takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m <em>sorry</em> for what I said years ago. I don’t remember what I said, but I know I hurt you then, and it’s really hurting <em>me</em> now too—I just feel <em>bad, okay</em>, and you don’t have to accept because I sure as hell wouldn’t, but…”</p><p>“I accept.”</p><p>It takes Chloé a moment to come back to the present. When she does though, she stares at the other girl with her jaw open in surprise. Well, that’s not all the blonde manages. She <em>does </em>let out a rather undignified squawk, much to her future self’s mortification.</p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p>(Three out of four of her chibi hallucinations cheer loudly.)</p><p>“I accept your apology and forgive you,” Juleka repeats. The other girl is all seriousness now, the brief flash of mirth absent. She gives Chloé a tiny, shy smile. “Thank you for reaching out to me.”</p><p>“…”</p><p>It doesn’t seem real. Scratch that—it doesn’t feel <em>deserved.</em> Chloé didn’t realize it until now, but she never really thought it would be this <em>easy, </em>or that the other girl would actually <em>take the apology.</em> She doesn’t trust it, doesn’t quite believe this is happening. Everything she’s ever really wanted, she’s never been able to have. Chloé was prepared for the worst possible scenario, and now that she’s essentially gotten the best…</p><p>“It’s been years, and I’ve had time to heal.” Juleka takes a deep breath. “It wasn’t all your fault, anyways. How I was feeling. But I do appreciate your apology.”</p><p>“B-But I said so many mean things, how—”</p><p>“It <em>really</em> wasn’t, Chloé. Trust me. Don’t get me wrong, I was hurt, but…” And here Juleka seems to be choosing her words <em>very</em> carefully. “That was a long time ago and I’m in a better place now. One thing I’ve learned since then is that I’m not alone. I’ve got people who care for me enough to help me out when I’m struggling.”</p><p>She gives Chloé a <em>significant</em> look, and Chloé…</p><p>There’s a burning, prickling feeling creeping up at the back of her eyes. Blue eyes dart to the ceiling and blink rapidly, trying to dispel the blurriness overcoming her vision.</p><p><em>God, this is so embarrassing. </em>But also relieving. There is so much relief.</p><p>“Oh. Well. Um. I’m still sorry,” Chloé sniffs.</p><p>“And don’t worry. Your and my brother’s secret is safe with me… even if you two are going through something right now.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to, but I saw you two at a park after an akuma attack… and he’s been bringing two breakfasts to school every morning at the same time you started showing up for class on time. He’s also been looking really happy this year.” Juleka blinks at her with wide eyes. “You <em>are</em> dating, right?”</p><p>Chloé blushes hotly.</p><p>“We—we’re not—I mean that’s not to say—” she sputters. “We’re friends! He just helps me out with my homework!”</p><p>“Friends. Got it,” Juleka echoes, her thin lips outlining the ghost of a smile.</p><p>Chloé bristles. “Don’t sound so relieved.”</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that!” Juleka backtracks hurriedly. “These past few months, you’ve been kind of cool, but ah… don’t take this the wrong way, Chloé, but I’m glad. It’s nice to know my brother’s not keeping secrets from me, is all.”</p><p>“Oh, okay,” Chloé responds, feeling a little guilty.</p><p>
  <em>Secrets, huh…</em>
</p><p>“But if</p><p>Juleka then hikes up her backpack, seeming a lot more relaxed than earlier. In fact, there’s even a subtle glow to the normally gloomy-girl’s aura. “Well, I gotta go. My <em>friend</em>,” she says, placing a particular emphasis on the word, “Rose is waiting for me. I’ll see you in class?”</p><p><em>That shit-eating glimmer in her eyes.</em> Chloé is really seeing the family resemblance now.</p><p>“Minus the attitude, you’re too good a person, Couffaine.”</p><p>Juleka snorts. “Funny. My brother tells me the same thing. Hope you guys work things out.” The door closes behind her.</p><p>Chloé lets out a soft, “huh,” and looks off to the side. She’s feeling so many things at once, that it’s almost hard to parse through all of them.</p><p>There’s relief, as if a heavy burden has been lifted from her shoulders. A little annoyance, mostly from Juleka’s cheeky insinuation. Some pride, because she’s finally done what so many said she was incapable of doing. Some shame, that it’s taken her so long.</p><p>But most strongly, especially when Plagg—the <em>real </em>Plagg, not the cartoon version in her mind doing celebratory cartwheels—murmurs “Good job, hellcat. I’m proud of ya” from her bag, she feels… warm, not unlike the feeling when she takes a particularly good selfie that everyone likes.</p><p>She focuses on that.</p><p>“I know. I’m amazing,” she gloats, flipping her hair.</p><p>Starting today, she’ll be a better version of herself—a new leaf and all that jazz. She’s doing something <em>right</em> right now, so maybe she can take that momentum and swing it so that Master Fu, Adrien, <em>even Luka and everyone </em>will see that she’s so much better.</p><p>“And then Adrien will see just how amazing I am and stop paying attention to Rossi, and we’ll date, get married, and have an <em>adorable</em> cat that can eat all the rodents on our gigantic property!” she gushes, much to Plagg’s amusement.</p><p>Now all she has to do is take care of the book, preferably by dumping it into the fireplace—</p><p>She peers inside her bag. A textbook, two journals for notes, her three most essential makeup kits, and no sign of the notebook. It’s gone.</p><p>The warmth vanishes and is replaced with an icy cold.</p><p>“Plagg? Did you take out my notebook?”</p><p>“Hah?”</p><p>“My notebook. It’s missing. Did. You. <em>Take. It?”</em> Chloé demands, her voice rising higher in pitch with every word and beat of silence from the kwami.</p><p>“Hold on, hellcat, maybe you just misplaced it. I mean, it’s probably at home somewhere, right?” the kwami offers quickly, trying to placate his wielder but ultimately failing.</p><p>Suddenly, Plagg’s eyes get very wide. He stills, then dives headfirst into Chloé’s purse, concealing himself right before the locker room doors swing open to reveal a certain twin-tailed brunette that’s proven to be very fond of the same style of dramatic entrance.</p><p>(Chibi Fu purses his lips in disapproval. Chibi Adrien smiles unsettlingly. Chibi Plagg hisses. Chibi Luka keeps staring.)</p><p>“Looking for this?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*aggressively chugs new and improved happy pill*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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